


In His Green Light

by Aragem



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Crossover, Cults, Dark Past, Deception, Devotion, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, Obsession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Religion, Trauma, Worship, indoctrination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24217102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragem/pseuds/Aragem
Summary: An AU of Hope, Faith, and LoveWhile on a mission with the Blade of Mamora to rescue an informant, Keith gets captured by the Horde Armada and becomes ensnared by Horde Prime's mental manipulation.For updates and more follow me on Tumblr: rebelcourtesan
Relationships: Horde Prime (She-Ra)/Keith (Voltron Legendary Defender), Horde Prime (She-Ra)/Original Female Character(s), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. At the Edge of Peace

He made the invitation, so he was the one to choose the location. A cafe seemed like a safe and calming place, and this one had an aquarium that should cast a soothing ambiance. Then after he sent the invite, he realized that Bridget Walsh had a fear of water. 

“Shit,” he sighed when his comm pinged to indicate she accepted the invite.

“Did she agree to come?” Shiro asked from where he was still lying in bed with his glasses pushed up to his forehead. 

“Yeah,” Keith sighed, setting the comm on the bedstead and leaning backward until he was lying across Shiro’s legs. “What the hell was I thinking about inviting her to a cafe in an aquarium? Isn’t she scared of water?”

Shiro set the tablet on the opposite bedstead to tousle Keith’s hair. The metal hand was flexible but harder than a human hand with fingertips that didn’t mold against surfaces. “She’ll be fine as long as she’s not expected to swim in it.”

Keith rolled onto his side, curling up into Shiro’s lap, enjoying the attention. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

“That’s not for me to judge,” Shiro said, stroking Keith’s hair and then tracing a finger along the Galra marking at his cheek. “It’s your decision to . . .revisit unpleasant times.”

“That’s the problem. If I go through with it, then Bridget has to be on board too. I can’t talk about what happened without including her.”

Bridget had been there from the start and to the bloody end of it. And if he were going to reopen his old wounds, then he would be opening hers also. It was too personal to explain via email or over galactic communications, so it had to be done in person. 

“That’s fair,” Shiro replied, shifting and maneuvering until he was lying across the bed with Keith, spooning him from behind. With his arms around his husband, he laid his head on the nap of Keith’s neck and sighed. “Do you want me to come with you?” 

“I need to do this alone,” Keith said, pressing his hands across Shiro’s and inhaling the scent of Shiro’s favorite shampoo. It was of lavender and vanilla, pleasant clean scents that lulled Keith to relax even more in his partner’s arms. “Or at least, I need to speak to Bridget alone. You should come. We could go shopping, maybe catch a movie and dinner later?”

“Are you asking this old man out on a date?” Shiro whispered into Keith’s ear. 

“You’re not old,” Keith rolled his eyes.

“People look at us and think I’m robbing the cradle,” Shiro chuckled. 

“You’re only a few years older than me,” Keith said.

“Love, you’re Galra heritage has been favorable to you in more ways than one.”

While Shiro’s hair whitened at the temples and age lines were deepening around his eyes at the age of 50, Keith maintained a youthful visage of a 30-year-old man. More than once, someone would nudge Shiro with a wink or a thumbs up at snagging himself a beautiful young husband. It was a little annoying, but fun to see the shock and envy on their faces when they learned that Keith was in his late forties. 

“Soooo, no date?” Keith asked with raised eyebrows. Rolling over until he was sitting astride Shiro’s waist, spreading both hands on Shiro’s chest. The gentle rise and fall of Shiro’s breathing were lulling and arousing at the same time. 

“What do you think?” Shiro said, clapping his hands on Keith’s thighs, fingers edging under the shorts. “Maybe later, see if there’s a hotel?”

“So, we’re making a weekend of it?”

Sobering, Shiro reached up and cupped Keith’s cheek. “Yeah. I think you’ll need some fun once you finish speaking with Bridget.”

***

The aquarium cafe arranged its tables to be spaced several yards apart so visitors could enjoy the view and conversate in peace and privacy. For a cafe to have so much room in the overly cramped Space Mall spoke volumes for its popularity. Keith had the foresight to book a table ahead of arriving. 

The booth was set in a corner where a small school of violet fish made their home in a colorful reef. Little fish peeked out of the reef as if investigating or looking for food, or whatever fish did throughout their day. They each ordered a coffee while they waited after arriving a bit early. 

“The Space Mall is thriving,” Shiro commented. “Ever since the Galra military withdrew from this sector.”

Keith snorted. “You should have seen it the first time we came here. It was just as busy then as it is now. We got chased by a mall cop while riding Kaltenecker. I wonder if that unilu is still working . . .”

“Keith, there she is.” 

Being led by a waitress was Bridget Moore Walsh. Like most people who come to the Space Mall, she wore clothes for comfort with jeans, sneakers, and a sweater. And she didn’t come alone. In her arms was a little girl sleeping with her head on Bridget’s shoulder. Hanging off Bridget’s shoulder was a folded stroller, and a baby bag bumping her hip and thigh as she walked. 

Shiro was the first to rise to help her. “Let me get those,” he said.

“Thank you,” Bridget said, letting him take the stroller and bag from her arm, freeing her to sit comfortably with the child. “I’m so sorry. I came here with Connor and his family, and all five kids want to act like birds freed from a cage, except for this sleepy girl.”

“How old is she?” Shiro asked, admiring the little girl.

“She’ll be two in three months,” Bridget said, patting her granddaughter’s back with pride. “So I was quick to grab the quiet one while poor Connor and Aoife have to split the other four between them.”

Bridget had aged well over the years. Her hair was still a brilliant shade of red, and like Keith, she had maintained a youthful appearance of a 30-year-old woman, but there was a hardness about her face of someone who had endured a lot in life, and it had left its mark. When people commented on her longevity, she would smile and say it was proper dieting and self-care. Yet, Keith and Shiro, and others who knew Bridget well, understood the truth behind it. Favored slaves of the Galra tended to get doses of quintessence to buy more time and work out of young and healthy slaves. 

Bridget had spent nearly two years in a Galra pleasure station called Zenana.

“What planets are they going to visit?” Shiro asked, sitting down next to Keith. He had a talent for making people comfortable around him, and talking about her family made Bridget happy. 

“Tomorrow, they’ll head for Altea, then Flore Colony Station, and then Etheria.” 

“How old are the kids?”

Bridget rattled off the names and ages with the clear memory of any doting grandmother. “Sean is 12 years old but thinks he should have the responsibility of a grown man. Rose is ten and wants to be an inventor. Ryan is seven and wants to raise tigers; he’s been in love with them ever since he saw them at the zoo. Brianna is four and is determined to become a princess when she grows up. And this one is Riley, and she might have a dirty nappy. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Once Bridget had quickly departed for the restroom, Shiro looked at his husband and said, “She seems happy.”

“Yeah, I just hate that I’m going to pop it like a bubble,” Keith said, fingers flexing around his cup of coffee. “Maybe . . .maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.”

“No, nothing you can say will take away what she has now. It might bring her some discomfort, but she’ll be fine,” Shiro said, laying a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “She’s been through a lot, just like you, and you both found true happiness.”

But it had been such a long road getting there. Voltron had fought two wars that had cost all of them, but it was what held them together over the years. The young generation never knew the brutal role of the Galra Empire and the dire threat of the Horde Armada. It had been two wars with no space in between, and it nearly ripped the Universe apart. And they had all been in the middle of it. 

Bridget returned with a grumpy and awake Riley. She shared her grandmother’s red hair, which was a tangle of soft curls around her face. Squinting at them with blue eyes, she gave them suspicious looks. When Bridget sat down, she perched Riley on her knee and gave her a slight bounce. “Sorry about that. Nature calls.”

Might as well broach the topic now. Keith folded his hands together and racked his brain for how he should start. In his youth, he would have blurted out what he had to say with no thought to how the listener would react. Now he thought before he spoke, but it didn’t make it any easier to know what to say. 

As if sensing, Keith needed a bit more time, Shiro stood up, “Bridget, why don’t I take Riley around to see the fish so you two can talk.”

Drawing a breath, Bridget nodded, her happiness dampening as reality settled over her. “Of course. Go with Mr. Shiro, dear heart.”

At first, Riley wasn’t receptive to the idea and made irritating noises when her grandmother handed her off to a stranger. Still, as soon as Shiro began crooning to her, she settled against him with a thumb in her mouth, peering at the aquarium while he pointed out the different fish as he walked away with her. Regret squeezed Keith’s heart at seeing the two. Shiro had wanted kids, and they had talked about having them, but between Keith’s humanitarian missions with the Blade of Mamora and Shiro’s work as captain of the Atlas, diplomat, and representative of Earth, time wouldn’t allow them to be proper parents. The Universe needed so much to be rebuilt after the destruction that they made another sacrifice to aid it. 

Though Bridget was able to enjoy being a grandmother, she had done her part too. She opened several asylums for escaped or freed slaves to reclaim their lives and learn how to live in freedom. And she was also a director of a major orphanage for hybrid children, namely half-Galra orphaned or rejected by their parents, which earned her the title of Mother Bridget on social media.

In an interview last week, the reporter asked her if she still mourned what the Galra had done in their invasion of Earth. Bridget’s response was: “Like too many others, I have lost loved ones. My husband, Devin, died while trying to escape the Galra. I was arrested and taken away from my son for years, and by the time we reunited, he was too old to need me as a mother. I lived for two years at the hands of the Galra Empire. Once I was freed and had the means to help others, I decided that I would be a mother to those who needed one since I couldn’t be a mother to my son. Since then, what the Galra has taken from me, I have gained back ten times.”

Due to his humanitarian work, he worked closely with Bridget’s organization, TRF (The Right to Freedom), sending them freed slaves to rehabilitate. Yet, it’s been years since they had face to face like this. Maybe the reason they kept their distance was because of what he had come to discuss with her.

“A journalist contacted me,” Keith began. “She’s writing a book . . . about the wars.”

“Oh, really? Another book about Voltron?” Bridget inquired curiously. Countless books and reports had been released about the giant robot Lions and the massive robot they formed. 

“No, not Voltron,” Keith drew a breath, knew it was time to deliver the blow, and did so. “She wants to write about Horde Prime.”

A sudden chill fell over their table. The warm bubble around Bridget died instantly as her buoyancy fell. Her mouth opened, but then quickly closed. Looking away, she stared into the aquarium, biting her bottom lip as she leaned against the chair rest. When she finally looked back at him, she whispered, “Why?”

“Because a lot isn’t known about him,” Keith said. “Not even the clones can give accurate details after they were cut off from the hive-mind. Any records were destroyed when . . .well, when She-Ra turned his ship into a giant space tree.”

“Oh, dead God,” Bridget moaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. If there was one thing they didn’t discuss, it was Horde Prime. Talking about the war was okay. Zenana was tentatively okay on good days, but Horde Prime was forbidden when it came to Bridget Walsh. She even refused to say his name out loud. 

“Her name is T’sley Formunt,” Keith continued. “I looked into her past works already and she doesn’t write puff pieces or paint it up as a political picture,” Keith said, laying out his hands as if displaying the facts. “She interviewed Allura and Coran and wrote an award winning expose on the war between Altea and Galra.”

Since the Galra’s stranglehold on information and press was lifted, people have been leaping to reclaim lost history. This was a golden time for journalists, researchers, and historians who dove into lost records, interviews, and data mining to write books and papers on their lost pasts. 

“Of all the things she could write about,” Bridget said, building herself up to seethe. “She wants to write about him?”

Keith knew it wasn’t going to be easy to convince Bridget as he needed convincing himself to talk to Formunt about it. “We owe it to the Universe to expose Horde Prime for the bastard he was. There are still pockets of worshipers in the outer fringes of space who worship him as a god. And while we are enjoying peace time now, Formunt believes that in a few generations, we could have another ‘Empire’ forming.” 

Bridget twisted the napkin between her hands as if to make a noose out of it. “Why not interview Queen Glimmer and Lady Catra? I heard they had been his prisoners at one point.” 

“And she did approach them,” Keith sighed. “But they couldn’t give her much. They were only his prisoners for a few week and what they experienced is only a drop in the bucket compared to what we experienced. They weren’t . . .what we were for him . . .for years.”

Snorting, she hissed through her teeth, “Only because they got away from him before he had a chance to . . .dammit.” Bridget closed her eyes and shook her head. “You remember what he did to us. What he made us do for him. And how we wanted to do it.”

Nodding, Keith reached across the table and laid a hand on hers. They had started to shake, the napkin quivering like a flag in the wind. “I remember.”

Bridget drew her hands from his and rubbed her face as if she would sob in them. Instead, she leaned on them with her fingers steeple together. “Last year, all the children got stuffed rabbits in their Easter baskets. Brianna’s rabbit was white with these neon-green eyes. Cute, silly little thing, but when I looked at it, I . . .I had a flashback. It’s funny how I don’t get that way when I see a clone or around Sam and Eric.”

“That’s because they were victims too. You had compassion for them, even under Horde Prime,” Keith assured her. “Hell, you gave them more affection in those few years than that sonuvbitch ever had for them since he started creating them who knows how long ago.”

Well, now it was time to get to the crux of this meeting. “I’ve agreed to tell my story about my time with Horde Prime.”

Bridget’s face when several shades pale as she stared incredulous at him. 

“Because firstly, she’s right,” Keith said gravely. “We’re enjoying peace now, but someday a new threat is going to rise against the Universe. The next generation needs history in order to keep it from repeating itself. And the people who are still worshiping that asshole deserves to know the monster he truly was.” 

Bridget was looking back at the aquarium, her eyes reflecting the soft glow. She was listening, but her thoughts were far off. 

Keith continued, “And I’m doing this for myself. It would be a final ‘fuck you’ to him.”

She turned her gaze to him, and for the first time since he began talking about Horde Prime, amusement flicker in her eye. 

“But I won’t do it if you aren’t on board with it. For me to tell my story, I would have to yours too and I think it could come across better if you were there to tell it.”

“And I would have to talk about what I did to you,” Bridget sighed. “And what he did to both of us.”

Keith silently nodded and waited. He had said his peace and now it was Bridget’s turn to decide what she wanted to do. 

Rubbing the back of her neck as if there was a cramp, she said, “I need to think about this. I’ll let you know in a few days if I agree to the interview or not.”

“That’s fair,” Keith agreed. “And no drama if you refuse. I’ll tell Formunt that we can’t help her.”

“Keith, you realize if she publishes our story . . .people may look at us differently. I might be asked to resign as director of the orphanage.”

Sitting back in his chair, Keith nodded, understanding what she was talking about. “And I might be asked to resign too.”

“I’m more worried about how my family will react. Connor knows about Zenana, but . . .not about this. I mean, he knows I was a prisoner of Horde Prime, but . . . not the details. He might not want me around his children if he knew.”

“Yeah . . .that we worked for Horde Prime.” Keith wanted to get the words out. Might as well get a feel for them now. “I was his Inquisitor.”

A tear rolled down Bridget’s cheek. “And I was his Missionary.” 

Wiping away the tear with the wrinkle napkin, she looked up at the second story of the cafe. Keith followed her gaze to see Shiro kneeling by the aquarium with Riley standing tiptoe at the glass with both hands braced against it. Shiro supported her back with his cyborg hand while his other hand pointed out a serpentine fish that changed color as it swam. Riley uttered a loud happy squeal as she stood up higher on her toes.

“She’s having a good time,” Bridget said, some affection coming back into her voice. “I’m going to have a hard time peeling her off your husband.”

“He has that effect on people,” Keith said. “I think it’s going to be the other way around. He might try to sneak her home with us in a bag.”

“Did you . . .tell him about . . .it?”

“Yeah, he knows about Horde Prime . . .he was there for some of it.”

“I mean . . .” 

Keith felt her hand on his arm and he turned around to see her leaning forward. Her fingers tighten on his arm and she whispered, “Did you ever tell him about . . .us?”

His throat tightening, he flashed back to a darkened room with a low green light showing off the gentle curve of a shoulder and a soft moan that could be pain or pleasure. And from a pitch darkness was four green eyes, watching. “Yes, I told Shiro everything that I could remember and . . .Bridget, there was no us. It was all Horde Prime’s doing. All of it.”


	2. Interview Day 1.1

T’sleh Formunt was nothing short of professional and understanding. She was a petite canine race with a short snout and gray fur with hair trimmed into a pixie cut and fennec like ears sprouting from her head.

“I want to thank you both for agreeing to do this,” she said in fluent English with a small trace of an accent. She tended to be heavy on the “buh” and soft on “tra” sounds.

Keith and Bridget sat on opposite ends of the couch with Shiro seated in the center between them. They had agreed to conduct the interviews at their ranch house in Texas, Earth. They bought the house together in the tenth year of their marriage. It was private with a short driving distance to the city for supplies and shopping or just for a rare evening out. And it was enough space to satisfy their active lifestyles. They jogged the length of the property together or took an occasional camping excursion in the desert.

Since the house came with a roomy guest room, they invited Bridget to stay with them, but she politely declined. “I didn’t come alone - Sam is with me. Eric would have come too, but he’s in quarantine.”

“God, is he okay?” Keith asked, recalling the freed clone and his brother - one of the millions - who had loyally followed Bridget to Ireland.

“Oh no, he’s fine and healthy. Not sick at all. Since clones have such a high resistance to disease, he can care for children in quarantine without fear of catching the disease or spreading it.”

“That sounds quite useful,” Keith commented, surprised and pleased to hear the clones have found their lot in life. “Is Sam coming tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. There’s an ulterior motive for us coming to Texas. There’s a charity in Montana that wants to cut a check for The Right to Love orphanage. Sam is going in person to thank the reps and collect the check.”

Keith lifted a dish from the sudsy water and gave it a shake. “Wouldn’t it be easier to transfer the money directly? Who does checks anymore?”

Bridget sighed, which came out as a low purr with her brogue. “Because you can’t smile and have your picture taken over the exonet. Sam is used to dealing with attention seekers. He’ll smile and nod and even flirt until we get that check cashed, then it’s back to business.”

“How are they doing? Have they . . . acclimated well?” He wondered why he never gave much thought to Sam and Eric. Likely the less he thought of the clones, the less he thought of Horde Prime.

“Very well,” Bridget said, in a slight sing-song manner that made him imagine her pacing with the comm in hand. “Eric found himself a new partner among the pre-k teachers. They’re adorable together. I hope we’ll be celebrating an engagement soon. And Sam has a talent for organization and multitasking. I doubt Right to Love and Freedom would have done so well without him.”

His memories of the clones from before the hive-mind were destroyed were foggy at best. But then, he never had much contact with them during those days. They had been close to Bridget back then and acted as her right and left hand during her years as Horde Prime’s Missionary.

While Bridget had sounded almost carefree over the phone, the following morning, before the interviewer, she was quiet and discomfited as someone awaiting the gallows. She fidgeted with a tissue as she did with the napkin at the cafe. Being the smallest stature among them, she had the appearance of a withdrawn child at the playground.

He may have been the one to set up this interview; he too felt her trepidation. Sleep hadn’t come easy, even with Shiro’s warm body next to his. The room, though dark, was as familiar to him as his own hands, but he found it suffocating. Like the after image of bright light, green orbs floated before his eyes, and his unruly mind harkened back to a too familiar voice in his head.

_Keith, you were happiest when you Embraced My Light.”_

Shut up

_Your fears of your past, heritage, and place in the Universe .was gone when you Embraced My Light._

You fucked with my head and made me feel things that weren’t real.

_How do you know this is real? How do you know that I didn’t give you visions of marrying your precious Shiro and the life you shared?_

Cold fear filled his belly and crushed his heart. His hand fumbled beneath the covers until he grasped Shiro’s cyborg hand. Since the hand wasn’t as sensitive, Shiro remained asleep and undisturbed while Keith took comfort in the weight and firmness, reassuring himself that this was real.

_Do you understand? I never left you, My child, My beautiful Keith, My fearsome Inquisitor._

Don’t call me that, you goddamn monster.

He could hear Horde Prime’s laughter as if it was next to his ear. It made him feel cold and vile as if a layer of scum and grit was clinging to his skin. If it hadn’t disturbed Shiro, he would have risen then and showered, scrub his skin until it was raw to free him of that nightmare. Now he was about to relive that nightmare with Bridget and in front of Shiro. He had told Shiro a lot of what happened, but not everything.

“I understand that I am asking both of you to relive some traumatizing events in your lives, but I want to assure you that I have experience with interviewing people who have endured trauma. I’ve spoken with survivors of rape, genocide, slavery, and torture,” Formunt continued, giving each of them a warm but serious glance. “Before we begin, I want to go over some rules.”

She was perched on the edge of an armchair with her hands on her knees. A thin tail lay across her lap, and at the tip was a small gold band. It caught the light each twitch of the tip. “We do this at your pace; we stop when you want to stop. If I ask a question you don’t want to answer, just say no comment, and I’ll edit it out of the recording.”

So far, Keith was feeling more comfortable with Formunt and could see why she’s a celebrated journalist. Her presence was calming, encouraging, and understanding that this wasn’t going to be easy for them at all and was grateful they were willing to do this at her behest.

“One last thing, but it’s the most important,” Formunt said. “Anytime you want to stop the interview completely, we stop. No questions, no drama, I turn off the recorder and find another story to tell. Are there any questions?”

Bridget silently nodded while both Shiro and Keith gave their assent. Pleased, Formunt pressed a button on the recorder, and it made a soft powering on chime. “We’re going to start with general questions. I take it that you encountered Horde Prime during the middle of the Galra war? Shortly before Emperor Lotor took over the Empire?”

Keith nodded, “Yes. I had left Voltron for personal reasons and joined the Blade of Mamora. Back then, they were a Galra founded resistance group against Zarkon’s rule. I had trained and worked with them for about a year before . . .before Horde Prime.”

Drawing a short breath, Bridget gathered herself. When Shiro placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, she gave him a warm side smile. “At the time, I was enslaved at Zenana. The R&R pleasure station at the Heart of the Empire. I was there for almost two years before Horde Prime came.”

“I understand that Keith left just after Shiro rejoined Voltron,” Formunt commented, turning her attention to Shiro.

“Yeah, I was seriously injured after a serious battle with Zarkon,” Shiro supplemented. “It took a few months for me to recover enough to pilot a lion again. During that time, Keith piloted the Black Lion, and Princess Allura joined the team by piloting the Blue Lion.”

“Right, many are aware of the story of switching Lions,” Formunt nodded. “What I’m curious about is Horde Prime. He appeared from unexplored space and was gobbling up both Galra and non-Galra territory left and right, spreading his word of Embracing his Light. He drifted at the edges of the Galra Empire for a long time until he suddenly jumped straight into the Heart. Was that when he captured you, Bridget Walsh?”

It only made sense that she would go first. Bridget was the first to meet Horde Prime after all. With no more than a second of pause, Bridget pushed forward. “Yes, but I wouldn’t use the word capture. Capture means that you caught someone or something who was running away from you. The Galra already captured me. Horde Prime only took me off their hands.”


	3. Green Light

The cubed chicken sizzled and popped as soon as they fell into the oiled pain. Stirring so all sides would cook thoroughly, I checked the rice for any telltale bubbles of boiling. Sometimes, if I time it right, I can have both rice and curry simmering at the same time which gives me more time to set the table. 

There was a thumping on plastic, and I turned back to see Connor whacking his favorite toy, a plastic T-Rex, on the tray of his highchair. 

“Do you want some puffs, dear heart?” I asked. “Dinner is going to be a wee bit late.”

“Ma! Do-do-do!” Connor chirrup, practicing his new word for dodie - an item we kept out of sight in hopes he’d forget about it. We had weaned him down to having it only at night, but sometimes he demanded it in the day.

Puffs should do the trick to distract him for now. I checked the rice and the chicken to make sure it could do without me for a minute or two and went to the cabinet to fetch them. As I opened the door, every hair on my body stood on end as if something cold brushed my spine. I froze with my hand just inches from the container of baby puffs as I struggled to figure out what the matter was.

_ I’m not here. _

I blinked several times. My vision switched from seeing the inside of the cabinet and seeing something significant and green before me. It was as if I had stared at a bright green light too long, and the after images were floating before my eyes. The world swam around me, and I held onto the cabinet to keep my balance. 

**Who are you waiting for, child?**

There was a man in my kitchen. Though I was looking directly at him, I could see no defining features save that he was tall and wore white.

I had seen him before. When? When did I see him?

_ They led us into a room. A large, large room. Faces with green eyes stared at us with blank expressions. No trace of curiosity, desire, thought, or anger. Just eyes that function. They glowed, but not as brightly as the green pool before us.  _

“Who . . .who are you?” 

A smile, a parting of white flesh that exposed green teeth. Sharp teeth.

**Who are you waiting for, child?**

“My husband . . .Devin Walsh. He’s going to be home soon,” I said, realizing only a second later that it was a lie. 

**Is he?**

The man saw through my lie. But it couldn’t be a lie, Devin was going to be home soon. My hands felt sticky and cold. I looked down, and they were covered in dried blood. When did this happen?

I rushed to the sink and washed my hands until the skin turned pink, and there was no trace of blood on them. At the bottom of the basin, the water collected forming a pool. A pool . . .

_ There was a green pool before us. We huddled together in our silks and velvets. The impossible had happened - the Heart of the Empire had fallen. Where I should have felt joy, I experienced only terror until the gaze of green eyes. _

“No, he’s . . .not coming.” The water reflected no light, but I could see myself on the still surface as if it were a mirror. My eyes were large, cheeks hollow, and lips pale; I looked like a corpse. 

**Why is that?**

The man was behind me now. I didn’t hear him move, but I could see his reflection in the water from over my shoulder. His face was lost, save for his eyes and teeth. Four eyes. Three to the side of his face. Large hands were laid upon my shoulders, weighing me, but also drawing me towards something. 

“Please, I . . .I don’t know . . .” Tears rolled down my cheeks as I struggled to push against something horrible.

**_ALL BEINGS MUST SUFFER TO BECOME PURE_ **

I felt the horror growing in my stomach, and it crawled up my chest. I covered my face with both hands, refusing to see it. I felt the gravel beneath my knees, the cold night air on my skin, and the smell of rain in the distance. And the blood. God, I could smell the blood. 

Hands encircled my wrists and pulled my hands from my face.

**Hide not from the truth, child. Hide not from your pain, your suffering.**

I was at the bottom of the quarry. Sprawled before me, like a broken marionette, was Devin. His clouded eyes stared at the dispassionate sky as blood seeped from the back of his head, spreading towards me. I struggled to rise, to scramble backward as the cold blood soaked through the knees of my jeans. As if my arms were strings, the large hands held me in place. The forefingers were covered in metal; the sharp points pricked the back of my hands.

“Please, stop . . . please, please, please, stop.” My throat was raw, as if I had been screaming for hours. Perhaps I had been.

A soft, soothing shushing noise quieted me. My arms were folded across my chest as if I were about to be buried. The large hands lay across my chest, and for a moment, I was safe. 

**This is not my doing, dear child. Where are you?**

“I’m home . . .the quarry . . .no, I’m home . . .Connor is there.”

The quarry bled away, like overexposed film, and the kitchen came back into focus. Instead of the sweet familiarity of home, it was foreign as if I was in a stranger’s home. I looked over to the highchair which was now empty of Connor.

“Where’s my baby?”

**Who does he call mother now?**

Raw pain filled my heart. “I . . .I don’t know . . .”

I had not seen him in so long. The days bleed together in Zenana. 

**Who are you waiting for?**

“I don’t know . . .” I whispered. It was a lie. I know who is coming now. 

Sickeningly familiar now, I was in a room with a single cot. My house clothes were gone, and I was wearing the tattered remains of prison garb. My hands were covered in scratches and bruises and my body was sore in so many places that it hurt to breathe too deeply or move. And he was coming to inflict more pain, more bruises atop the barely healed ones. Unfathom terror filled me as I heard the distant footsteps that filled the hall outside the room.

**Poor child. Your mind is a raw, open wound. Almost lovely in its ugly, twisted agony.**

My hair was being stroked, and it felt good. A sharp metal tip scratched my scalp, causing some pain, but it was sweet, relieving. 

**Do you wish for all your suffering to stop?**

“Yes, please,” I begged. 

**Give yourself to my light.**

The room disappeared from a sudden flash of bright green light. It was blinding but wonderful. Warm, inviting, soothing, and healing. It filled me, soothing the aches in my body, healing my injuries, and mending my soul. 

Tears fell, but of relief and joy. 

Then I recalled when I first beheld the tall man with the four green eyes.

_ We were on our knees, huddled together. The men in white clothing and green eyes had parted, bowing reverently to one that resemble them, but had four eyes and hair was thick metal cords. He stared at us, all four eyes flitting across our faces, searching for something. Until they met mine, and I was chosen.  _

_ I was pulled forward and held by the arms as he knelt in front of me. Grasping my face with both hands, he had smiled and told me not to be afraid. _

His hands were still on my face. The cold metal floor hurt my knees, and my arms were held at sharp angles. It had all taken a span of five seconds for me to relive my agonies and regrets. And like waking from a beautiful dream, the green receded, leaving me with my pain, now tenfold since I had tasted relief from it. My arms were released, and I clung to him, weeping openly and begging him to take my pain away as he had done before. 

He was making soft shushing sounds again, a metal finger guard stroking my cheeks.  **“Shall I take away your pain, beloved?”**

“Please, please . . .I . . .I’m dying inside . . .I’ve been dying for so long . . .”

He was beautiful. Any revulsion or weirdness I would have felt for his four eyes never came. He was perfection, a blinding beacon in a Universe of darkness and pain. When He stroked my face, I loved Him more than I had ever loved my father or husband. 

He rose, drawing me to stand with him. With a long arm, he indicated the green pool.  **Go into the pool and be reborn as a sister.**

The pool was the color of life and freedom and it glowed invitingly like an oasis in a desert. I stepped forward, my sandaled feet dipping into the green fluid. My skin tingled as the water rose above my knees, my hips, and to my waste.

_ This is like a Baptism.  _

I stopped, and the green water lapped my ribcage, my skirt floating around me. I had been baptized when I was a baby and Confirmed when I was fourteen. What am I doing? I belonged to God and his Holy Ghost. 

Agony so great it was a struggle to breath overwhelmed me. Not even the wonderful glow of the pool could ease the pain. The Voice was angry, impatient, and it terrified me.

**You would be loyal to a god that would let you suffer so? To a god that did nothing while you wallow in agony? A god whom you have not beheld with your own eyes and touched with your own hands. Beloved, give yourself to My Light, and you will know no pain. Give yourself and be guarded against all that would harm you. Be exalted above all others and stand with Me as a precious sister. NOW GET INTO THE POOL.**

I flinched as if slapped. His voice, though tender, could turn vicious when angry. I went to the middle of the pool quickly to abate any forthcoming fury that would come in my direction. So deep that it was a struggle to keep my head above the surface. My father’s voice was a distant forgotten memory now. My doubts were gone, as was my hesitation.

**_Cast out all shadows._ **

**_Cast out all shadows._ **

**_Cast out all shadows._ **

The chant consisted of the same voice spoken from different mouths quick, precise, and definite. I relaxed my body, giving myself to it, and my head went underwater.

For several precious moments, I was cocoon beneath the surface, curled in a fetal position, waiting for the rebirth. Then I was seared in a fire. My mouth opened in a scream, and a stream of bubbles rose before my face. My nerves become inflamed, and every muscle in my body spasm.

Through it all, I felt all my sadness lifting away. The green light filled me where it had once been.

Gone was Devin, my poor dead husband.

Gone was Connor, my lost son.

Gone was the being who had ravaged my body.

Bliss, incredible bliss and relief was a balm to my sore body. My head broke the surface, gulping in air. It was done; I was part of the divine light. I paddled to the steps, and His hands were waiting for me. Taking my hands, He drew me from the water. His eyes gleamed, pleased, and it lifted my heart to know I was the cause of His pleasure. 

**Welcome our beloved sister to the Empire, brothers.**

There were wails, cries of jubilation, and even moans of ecstasy at my ‘arrival’ into their ranks. I beheld those who were still huddled together, watching me in horror and some in wonder. Most of them still bore the injuries from their abusers on their bodies and in their minds. Minutes ago, I had been one of them, but now no more. I had been lifted, raised from cowering on the ground to stand by the side of a god. 

He laid a hand across my shoulders, and I shivered at the pleasure it brought me. I was His example now for them. 

**Your friend has found peace in my Eternal Light. Will you not follow her? Will you not cast off your suffering and pledge yourselves to me?**

Some of them slowly began standing, looking hesitantly at the pool - the glorious green pool.

A brother approached me, taking me by the arm and leading me away. I didn’t want to leave the Lord’s side, but that was just my old self with lingering desires. My role in the Empire must be fulfilled. 

I was taken to a room and told to sit on a chair. I didn’t bother looking around the room as there was no need to know its purpose. Curiosity was an unnecessary emotion that causes chaos and a lack of drive. His voice was a distant whisper on the wind that rose in a crescendo when my mind strayed from the path. Absolute obedience brought me a wave of warmth and affection. 

I didn’t notice my hair being cut until I heard the snip of scissors close to my ear. Red curls rained down, covering the floor as handful after handful was cut away. I looked at the shorn curls, and a tiny part of me wanted to refuse this. It died as quickly as it rose, banished by His voice telling me that such things didn’t matter. My hair was too long and unruly. It would get in the way of my role to the Empire. I was to become part of a larger whole, and my individualist appearance couldn’t be condoned. 

I raised my eyes and, for the first time, saw my reflection in polished metal. It was a woman in white robes. Her skin was pale, the last of her wet curly red hair clung to her scalp in tangled clumps. What was striking was the eyes.

No pupils or sclera, but filled with a brilliant green glow. The green glow of His light. 


	4. Like Tears in Rain

Thunder broke the sky in a rich rumble she felt in her teeth. The pavement dotted with the first drops of rain that landed on her arms. With a frightened squeak, the girl raised her bookbag above her head and ran down the street. 

Dad promised that it wouldn't flood. At least not in their neighborhood, but the memory of the news footage of Cork's flooding stayed with her. What if it flooded so badly it went above her head. She hated deepwater dearly, and it terrified her to think that her home could be filled with water. What if the water went as high as her bedroom? 

A horrible image of the bed floating out the window with her like a raft flashed across her mind. It spurred her to dash across the road despite her father's warnings of never running in traffic. 

Lightning raked the sky, and she shrieked, stopping just short of the curb. It had been quite bright, sending circles of colors across her vision. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a tall figure down the block. It was hard to focus, like staring at those hidden image pictures where it looks like dots, but there's really a dinosaur. She could make out the broad shoulders of a tall man and neon-green about his face. 

Unnerved, the girl hurried to her house. The key was on a chain inside her book bag so it wouldn't be lost. Withstanding getting rain on her red curls, she fetched the fetch from a side pocket and pushed it home into the lock. The door gave way to a dark interior, and by heart, she knew where the light switch was.

"Dad?" She called, hoping he was home after all. 

Only the rumble of thunder answered her call. Shutting and locking the door behind her, she set her bag on the kitchen counter and hurried into the living room, which didn't contain her father. After checking his bedroom upstairs and not finding him there either, she went downstairs to call him. It annoyed her that he wouldn't let her have a cellphone like the other girls at school. It was true the school rules forbid cell phones and devices, but the girls always kept them hidden in their lockers and bags. She'd be really careful and not lose it or let it get confiscated by the Sisters.

As she walked through the living room into the kitchen, she saw the shape of the man in the kitchen. Believing it was her father, she darted inside, without wondering why he hadn't answered her when he was inside. "Dad!"

It wasn't her father. He was hard to see, like a fragmented picture, but the neon-green glowed like an afterimage of the sun. Rubbing her eyes, she turned her head away and found she could view him better from the edge of her vision. Unlike anyone she had ever seen before, he was tall, taller than her father, and wore white and grey clothing.

"You're not my Dad," she whispered. 

**No, but there's no need to be so disappointed.**

His voice, deep and smooth like polished bone, was all around her as if she were wearing headphones. "I . . .I don't know you."

**Oh? I thought we were already acquainted, sister.**

It was confusing. Not that she had no idea of what he was talking about, but she did and couldn't understand it. 

The man walked around the counter with his hands behind his back. His bluish-gray hands that weren't gloves. There were metal finger guards on the index fingers with sharp points. He ran one along the edge of the counter, almost leaving a shallow scratch on the wooden surface. The girl thought of how her father was going to be very unhappy about that. 

**I was curious to see your home—a small, quaint planet. I should visit it soon.**

Her vision was beginning to clear, and it was easier to look at the man. He was unlike anyone she had ever seen, but there was a familiarity about him. She had seen him, but couldn't remember from where. It was peculiar how she wasn't scared when she should be. She was alone during a storm with a strange man she had never met . . .but they had met before.

**What is that you are wearing? Around your neck?**

The man was looking directly at her neck. It was a silver cross, given to her two years ago by her father on her birthday. "My cross."

For the first time, fear of the man came to her. There was bristling energy about him, and his eyes, all four of them, blinked in unison. His mouth was set in a displeased line, and he tucked his hands behind his back.

**Take it off.**

She touched the silver cross protectively. "It was my mother's."

Thunder boomed so loud it shook the house. Lightning split the sky outside, and the rain drenching the world outside, lashing the windows. It was then that the electricity chose to go off, pitching her into the dark save for the glow of the man's eyes. 

She cried out and cowered against the table, tempted to hide under it. Terror filled her head, and panic seized her chest. 

**There shall be no other.**

With no further protest, she slipped the thin chain of the cross over her head and dropped it on the floor. As soon as it clicked on the floor near her mary janes, the rain lessened, and the roar of thunder grew dull. The power didn't return, but the man didn't seem angry anymore. 

**Now we won't have any more unpleasantness. Come here.**

She didn't want to go near him but was too afraid not to do as he asked. Crossing the linoleum floor, she approached him shaking. He knelt, and even kneeling, he was taller than she. Taking her face between his large hands, the finger guards lightly scratched her scalp and thumbs rubbing her cheekbones.

**These tears do not belong on this pretty face.**

She hadn't noticed the tears before now, and knowing they were there brought more. When would her father come home? What did this man want with her? His four eyes peered right through her as if she were full of holes, and he was looking to make more. 

**What happens next, dear little sister?**

"I . . .I don't know . . ." she said. "My Dad will be home soon."

**You should know. This is your memory.**

"I don't know . . .I don't know what you mean."

**Ah, I see. You haven't realized that this is just a memory inside your head. Then this shall help.**

Then she experienced the sensation of being tugged apart. It wasn't a grisly experience as one would have thought. It was like pulling two pieces of wet paper apart. It was suffering from intense vertigo and looking out both sets of eyes. 

Then Bridget Walsh was standing behind Horde Prime, who was kneeling next to her nine-year-old self. It was unnerving to see a face, but she had only seen in old childhood photos. Her child self was still weeping silently in Horde Prime's grasp. Then she remembered this day.

"My father was working late. He thought our housekeeper would be home with me, and she had forgotten that he had to work," she said. "I was feared the house would be flooded. So I hid under the table for almost an hour before anyone returned home." 

**Did you have a fear of water?**

"Deepwater. I . . .I don't like it. I almost drowned when I was four."

**Then we may have to visit that memory next.**

"No, please." The cold darkness came up to swallow her

**I jest, little sister.**

She looked into the eyes of her child self. So young and wide, unknowing of the terrors that awaited her in adulthood. Bridget envied her old self and wished she had never grown up. 

**You wish for the old days when you hadn't any cares save for childish endeavors. When an embrace from your father healed all pain and dashed away all fears.**

She had forgotten that he could read her mind. It was worse than how she would imagine having a diary read or search history reviewed. It was deeper, raw, like a part of her had been pulled out and exposed. 

He was lifting her child-self into his arms. Her school jumper stood out dark against his pale clothing and blue-gray skin, and her body was painfully small in his muscular frame. The child peered at her with her own eyes before shyly pressing her face into his shoulder. 

**It can be that way again.**

"You're not my father," Bridget whispered.

**No. I'm something better. Come here.**

The rain was hitting the windows hard enough to almost drown out a voice in her head telling her not to go. There was no denying his wishes, but only to appease him. To resist was to experience pain. The Galra had taught her that many times. 

When she close enough, a hand caressed her face, the metal tip of his index finger grazed the tender skin next to her eye. The caress slid down her cheek, her neck, and cupped the nap. The thumb toyed with something there, in her skin, but she couldn't recall what it was back there. It had hurt to receive it, and a slight pressure caused some discomfort. 

**We will meet like this again, sister, as I enjoy these little jaunts.**

"We've done this before?" 

**A few times. Your mind cannot retain the experience, but you do recall pieces of it from time to time.**

She glanced at the child in his arms, and before she could speak, the world fell apart. It was like watching streams of different color paint washing down a drain. Colorful, but dizzying. The dominant color was green. 3

***

I felt the tendril, His tendril, being drawn from the chip on my neck. It had hurt going in, and it caused no less pain coming out. A brother drew me to my feet from where I had been kneeling by the throne. 

The tendril reslotted itself into a short at His shoulder, the threes of eyes blinking in turn down the right side of his face. **Thank you, sister, you've done quite well. You have pleased me.**

Warmth and pride filled me like wine in a chalice. "I live only to serve in Your Light, Lord Prime."

**Go in peace, beloved sister, and rest. The exchange was a bit too much for you.**

A spark of fear touched my heart. Had I failed him somehow? Had he found something lacking in me? A brother drew me along with him, and as I went, I drew the cowl over my head to hide my slight ignominy. 

The long halls were silent, with brothers coming and going in silence. In Zenana, there had been constant noise, whether from laughing, conversation, and open weeping. Here, there were only the soft footsteps of passing brothers and sisters and the whisper of white cloth. Peaceful, but also lonely. 

There was no assigned dormitory nor futons. You slept where there was an empty spot. The brother opened the door to a dormitory with an available futon and nodded. "Rest in peace, sister."

"In his Eternal Light," I replied. It was used as both a greeting and a parting.

Other bodies were sleeping. Some were faces I recognized from Zenana, and others were new. I went to an empty futon and laid down, curling on my side beneath the heavy covers, taking pleasure in the soft weight atop. 

It wasn't until I was almost asleep that I noticed the tears still clinging to my face. 


	5. Interview Day 1.2

“Do you need to take a break, Ms. Walsh?”

Tears clung to Bridget’s cheeks as she brushed them away on a tissue. “I think some hot tea would be in order.”

Keith and Shiro looked at each other. Their drinks consisted of water, coffee, soda, and alcohol. The only tea they drank was served at restaurants when they wanted someone with more sugar than water, but less than soda. And that was ice tea, far from the warm tea Bridget was talking about. 

Shiro leaned forward to rise. “Uh, I think we can make some coffee . . .”

“Not to appear rude,” Bridget coughed, which one could call a short laugh. She rose with a clap of her hands and headed for where she had set her heavy purse. “I brought a tin of tea because I suspected you Americans still haven’t developed an appreciation for tea.”

While Bridget busied herself in the kitchen, Keith sat in an uncomfortable silence with Shiro and Formunt, recalling Bridget’s words.

Being part of the hive-mind is like having all the negative and hurtful feelings being pushed down so the good feelings can rise to the surface.

While that is undoubtedly true, there was so much more to it than that. Even Bridget, who was more literary than him, didn’t have the words to describe it accurately. It filled you, making almost no more room for anything else, and you didn’t hear your thoughts, only his.

Shiro’s hand on his shoulder was a soothing balm as he knew his turn was to speak. The dread filled his stomach, making him grateful for a light breakfast, or he would be feeling sick right now.

“Babe.” He felt Shiro’s hand squeezing his shoulder, getting his attention. “She’s cleaning our kitchen.”

Keith looked to where Shiro was indicating with a raised finger. Bridget was spraying and wiping down the counters with a spray bottle of cleaner and a paper towel. Once the counter was spotless to her satisfaction, she turned her attention to the sink, where a few dishes remained from breakfast and turned on the facet.

“Umm, let’s give her a few minutes,” Shiro said.

“Is there . . .a problem?” Formunt asked tentatively. 

“On or off the record?” Keith replied.

“Whatever you don’t want in the finished report stays out,” Formunt promised. 

“Bridget cleans when she’s upset,” Shiro explained. “It’s a . . . it’s a coping mechanism from when the Galra held her captive.” 

“Ah, I see,” Formunt nodded. “This is a good time for a break anyway. Is it alright if I smoke outside?”

“Of course, we’ll collect you once Bridget is ready to continue.”

When Keith felt it necessary to approach her, Bridget was wiping down the kitchen table and the chairs. Her back bent from the effort of her task, and red curls fell loose ponytail and hung down the side of her face. 

“Bridget, it’s alright.”

“This was a mistake,” she muttered, dropping onto one knee to better scrub the chair legs. “When was the last time you cleaned these?”

“I think this is the first time they’ve seen a wet cloth that wasn’t dropped on the floor,” Keith replied. “If you want to stop . . .”

“No, I’ll be fine. I just need a minute to sort myself,” Bridget said. “Maybe once I finish with these chairs, I’ll be ready to continue.”

So Shiro and Keith resign themselves to watching Bridget clean a part of their kitchen while Formunt smoked in the yard. It was with a resolution that Bridget finally rinsed the rag and laid it to dry over the edge of the sink and returned to sit next to Keith. Her hair was a touch dishevel, which she raked back into place with her fingers. 

Formunt looked between her and Keith, and with an acknowledging glace towards Shiro, she continued. 

“It was shortly after Horde Prime took Bridget Walsh that Keith Kogane came into the picture. Mr. Kogane, will you please share your experience?”

“Yes, uh, the reason I was there was to extract Bridget from Zenana. We had a plan in place to get her out without drawing attention, but then Horde Prime’s Armada appeared and threw a wrench into everything . . .”


	6. A Man Rides Through

Well, this one liked to fight. It had been costly to apprehend him; dozens of battle droids scattered the halls and losing nearly double that in clones was displeasing.

The creature - the human - was bent double on the floor of his throne room, arms and legs twisted in bola cords. Four clones on either side held the ends of the bolas, keeping him from moving. If it weren't the score of lacerations and the blood oozing along the side of the face, one would suspect that the bolas and clones weren't enough measures.

It g was detected in the lower levels where the 'guests' were kept and made its way to the upper rooms where the dormitories were held. Horde Prime had a suspicion about who he was after.

"Do you care to explain your presence on my ship?"

"Go to hell," a strained youthful voice muttered.

A white eye ridge rose in interest. Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward for a better look. The body was slim, solid with wiry muscle and agility and swiftness that could only be gained from hard training. Though young, this human was well trained and talented in combat as Horde Prime could recall from his clones' last moments.

The thought of the loss was irksome. It was no significant cost to have more created from the recycled material of the fallen. It was bothersome that he had to make up the loss due to the actions of a single individual.

"Bring him closer."

There was hesitation from the clones. Not from disobedience, that would be impossible, but in their programming was the fail-safe against anything that could potentially harm their progenitor. And this human has proven himself quite the threat.

In one motion, they lifted, suspending him off the ground. The human's mouth sealed tight, refusing to utter any sound of pain or discomfort. Prideful creature, it would seem, and stubborn too. The clones set him on the dais at the foot of his throne. Reaching forward, he grasped the mop of ebony hair and lifted.

Brilliant, fierce violet eyes glare through the dark tresses. They were better suited for the face of a furious beast and matched the ferocity the youth had demonstrated in combat. The soft lips pulled back in a sneer and crimson spittle dotted across Horde Prime's boot and the hem of his robe.

An angry hissed reverberated through the throne room as all clones directed hateful gazes at the offender. If Horde Prime hadn't full control of them, they would have torn him apart. Despite his creations' outrage and bloodthirst, Horde Prime's sharp features turned in a pleased smile.

"Exhausted, injured, and captured, but you still have plenty of fight left. A marvelous creature that you are, there will be serious consequences for killing my brothers." He released the hair and sat back in his throne. "Take him to the holding cells."

The clones were all too willing to take the interloper away. The creature hissed in a weak moment of intense pain and hand hung sharply. Horde Prime recognized the sign of someone passing out and wondered how long the youth had maintained consciousness despite how much pain he was enduring.

He decided after a few moments of thought and tapping the metal tip of a finger claw on the armrest in sharp clicks.

***

Upon awakening, he took stock of his condition. Fingers and limbs were bruised, but not broken. His ribs were cracked on the right side and possibly broke on the left side. From the headache and pressure at his temples, he concluded he was suffering from a mild concussion. Once those clones or whatever they were, realized his weaknesses, they focused down on them until he was brought down.

How did they find him in the first place? It must have been his biochemistry as every clone must share the same DNA coding. Once the system detected him, they knew him to be an intruder and zeroed in on him. There was no getting away from them. Everywhere he turned, a clone or machine was coming for him and eventually broke him down until he couldn't fight back.

Then he tried to move. He was on his knees, but his upper body was held up by two shackles on the wrists. Opening his eyes, it took only a few moments to adjust to the greyish light of the cell. Glancing around, he saw it was laid bare of any furnishings and was strangely clean. There weren't any stains or odors to indicate anyone had ever been in this cell before him.

Shifting, he attempted to get to his feet, but his ankles were locked in place by two more shackles drawn into two holes in the floor. Looking up, he saw the suspending restraints were suspended from a single hole in the center. It seemed that the captors could have him suspended off the ground or locked on the floor at their leisure, which unnerved him.

Looking down at his body, he grimaced at the state of his Blade of Mamora attire. It had been perforated at several places, the inner armored layer almost punctured through to his flesh. He was going to have nasty bruises if he lived long enough to see them.

The mission had been a bust from the beginning. His team was lost, and the mission fell apart when the Horde Armada jumped into the Heart and began attacking. And Shiro had asked him personally to be on this mission. . .

"Fuck," Keith moaned, hating himself for failing Shiro.

No, he needed to focus on Kolivan's training. They had kept him alive as a prisoner, which meant they wanted something from him, most likely information. What did he know that could harm the Blade of Mamora? Knowing them, they had already abandoned the sites he had visited and purged all data from their computers. And if he knew Shiro and the others, they would have heard of the mission failing and be looking for him. This was an opportunity to make the most of his captivity to learn what he could of his captors of clones that could take on the Galra Empire.

From behind him, there was the familiar sound of an energy door being dropped and footsteps.

"You have ten minutes, no more," said a voice in the deep, smooth baritone that all the clones shared.

"Thank you," a feminine voice replied with a slight Irish brogue.

And they were speaking in perfect English. Keith tried to wrangle his head around to see but was blocked by the angle of his raised arm. More footsteps approached him and went around until a human woman carrying a tray appeared before him.

She was petite and wore a white tunic with a gray belt hanging loosely around her waist. Matching white trousers were tucked into small boots. The woman knelt before him, setting the tray on the floor. He recognized them as medical supplies with gauze, containers of medicine, and a pouch of liquid.

"I was permitted to tend to your injuries," the woman said. "I don't have any medical skills, but I think I can manage basic first aid."

He stared at her face recalling Shiro's description of Bridget Walsh. Green eyes, long curly red hair, and spoke with an Irish brogue. It must be her, but her hair had been trimmed short with a hair persistently curling at the temples and brow. She was spraying what smelled like a cleanser on a cloth when he tried speaking.

His throat was dry. When was the last time he drank? And he had fought so hard for so long. She noticed him trying to speak and instantly raised a water pouch to his lips. He drank it deeply, and it was so blissful to quench his dry throat that he almost forgot the pain in his muscles.

Watered, he could find his voice. "Are you Bridget Walsh?"

The woman blinked and stared at him, eyes slowly growing wide. "Yes, I am . . .how do you know my name?"

Maybe the mission wasn't a total bust after all. "My name is Keith. I'm Shiro's friend from Earth."

Bridget drew a quick breath, her hand covering her mouth in shock. Looking towards the door, she made a motion to keep his voice down. "The guard is just outside the door."

"I was sent on a mission from Ulaz and Shiro to get you out of Zenana," Keith whispered.

Closing her eyes, Bridget drew a deep breath as a wave of pain passed through her. "They hadn't forgotten me?"

"No, never," Keith said earnestly. "Shiro wanted to come after you, but Zarkon has some sort of influence over the Black Lion so they couldn't come to the Heart of the Empire without risking Voltron."

"I . . .I don't understand. Shiro knows the Paladins of Voltron?" Bridget whispered, dabbing at a cut along his cheekbone.

Smiling hurt a swollen spot on his lip, but he didn't care. "Shiro is the Black Paladin of Voltron."

Again, Bridger was stunned, pressing the cloth into his cut hard enough to hurt him. Apologizing, she quickly took the fabric away and wrung it between her hands. "I had no idea. I knew he was going to join in the rebellion, but a Paladin of Voltron . . .that's amazing. Are you a Paladin too?"

There was a long pause. "I used to be. I'm with . . . I'm with Ulaz's group, the one you were spying in Zenana."

She was dapping and cleaning his face as he spoke. It stung, but necessary to disinfect the wounds. Any that was still bleeding, she pressed tape across and slathered it with a gel-like substance to promote healing. As she worked, she told him what happened.

"I was in Zenana when the alarms went off. Of course, since we're just assets, the guests and staff were evacuated off the station, and we were left to fend for ourselves. It was . . .it was a madhouse. I've seen horrible things, but . . .nothing prepared me to see people losing their minds with terror. I hid in my room and barricaded the door with furniture. A few times, someone tried to get in but gave up. I only had a dinner knife I stole from a dining cart to protect myself."

"Yeah, we were there," Keith sighed. "We infiltrated Zenana with a supply ship. The plan was to wait until you were in the lower levels, have one of our men go up and bring you down to a ship we had waiting."

"But . . .we all had collars that would have alerted the staff if we were anywhere we weren't supposed to be . . ."

"We had a jamming device that would block the signal on your collar while a second tracker that could mimic it would be hidden on the grounds. If we were quick enough, we could have gotten you off Zenana before they realized it was a ruse. But then the Horde ships showed up."

And everything had gone to hell, as Bridget said. Kolivan sent an order for the team to pull out, but Keith refused to leave her behind. Not after he had promised Shiro to get her out, he told them to give him time to find Bridget and to leave without him if he didn't return. The clones had begun taking people onto the boarding ship with Bridget among them. He had snuck on board and hid for nearly two days when the ship's systems finally detected him.

"They didn't hurt me," Bridget said as she set aside the medical tools. "I was frightened, of course, but I was taken on board with everyone else. They let some people go and kept others on board."

"Bridget, do you know what they are going to do. What can you tell me about them?"

"I . . . I don't know much. Their leader is Emperor Horde Prime'; he created the clones and led the Horde Armada."

"Great," Keith muttered darkly. "It's bad enough we have the Galra Empire making everyone miserable; then, here comes another empire. And they haven't harmed you?"

"No. I just do small jobs around the ship. Under their supervision, of course, but I have a lot more freedom here than I ever did in Zenana and no one . . .no, one tries to hurt me."

Zenana had been a pleasure station for the Galra Elite. Bridget being what they called a courtesan, slave trained in entertainment to give companionship to Galra. And often than not, that included sexual encounters. If there was a silver lining to the Horde Amada taking the Heart, other than the severe blow to the Galra Empire, it had permanently shut down Zenana and got Bridget out of there.

"Bridget, do you know what they have planned for me."

Shaking her head, Bridget collected the tray. "I'm sorry, but I don't. They don't tell me much, other than what they want me to do."

"Okay," Keith said, already figuring there wasn't much Bridget could do to help him. "Continue doing as they say and be ready. Team Voltron will be looking for us, and I'm going to get us out of here."

A sad smile touched her lips, and Bridget laid her hand along his cheek. "Shiro said the same to me when I first met him."

There was sadness in her eyes, and Keith felt a sense of regret from her that he didn't understand. Was she blaming Shiro for leaving her behind in that hell? Or did not believe they would be rescued?

She gathered the supplies as the door opened behind Keith. Giving him a parting look, she carried the tray around him, and Keith could only hear her footsteps.

"Go in peace, sister," the guard's voice said.

"Thank you, brother," Bridget responded kindly.

Keith's eyes went wide as he struggled to look behind him. Sister? Brother? Had he heard her correctly? Shit. The regret he had sensed hadn't been about Shiro or being rescued. It was for her betrayal.

"Goddammit!"

***

**You've done well, Beloved Sister.**

Pride and pleasure ripped through my body like a pool of water. To hear the affection in His voice was warmth on my skin. I stood still, my hands clasped before me, one hand squeezing the wrist of the other and not moving unless He requested me to do so.

**You were not aware of your friend, Shiro, being this Paladin of Voltron?**

There was an edge of accusation in his voice, and it popped my warm bubble. Would He think I was keeping secrets from Him? Would He doubt my devotion to Him? "No, Lord Prime, after Shiro . . . after Shiro left me behind, I don't know what he did afterward. I thought he was with the rebellion."

Well, being the Paladin of Voltron wasn't far off the mark from being a rebel. For months, the stories of Voltron taking apart the stranglehold the Galra Empire had on the Universe seeped into Zenana. Each day a patron would bemoan Voltron's intrusions into territory and the loss of sectors. And more than one patron was dismissed from Zenana due to their failures to contain the giant weapon. Hearing of Voltron gave me hope, but it was a false hope as I now knew that Voltron would never come to the Heart of the Empire, but Horde Prime came.

**What is Keith's relationship with Shiro?**

"Keith was a problematic foster child that Shiro mentored in the Garrison Academy on Earth. They're very close. Shiro talked a lot about him whenever we spoke of Earth."

**And you know not the name of this secret group Keith words for? Your Ulaz was part of this group, was he not?**

Again, fear squeezed my throat. I was failing him. I should have insisted he tell me the name, but I would have been overplaying my hand. It was better to let the information flow from him than to pry for more. "Ulaz never trusted me with that. He said the less I knew, the less I gave away under torture."

Or the less you could use against him once you realized he had no intention of freeing you from Zenana.

His words sucked the breath from me, and my back went into an offended stiffness. "Ulaz sent Keith and others to free me . . ."

**Only when it was necessary. Only when they feared you would sell information about them to me. The truth is painful, but I only tell you out of love, Beloved Sister. They left you in Zenana to continue spying for them. If they had the power of Voltron, why not come for you then? Why not free you and destroy that hateful place of debauchery and rape from the space?**

My mouth opened to argue. Even though I loved Him so much, I couldn't accept that I had been abandoned. Yet, no words came to me. Only a heavy truth wrapped itself around my throat and squeezed.

If Emperor Zarkon . . .no, Zarkon, could influence Voltron, then why was Voltron not already under Galra control? What was keeping Voltron under the Paladins' control? Had Keith kept something back from me? Or had they kept something from him? Why was he no longer a Paladin?

A steady hand curled around me, and the cold metal of his finger claw stroked my palm. I was drawn closer, and I knelt by his feet, my head powered, exposing the chip by the nape of my neck. My shoulders quivered as I enjoyed the slight pressure of his fingers toying with the chip there before the claws drew across my scalp.

**Beloved Sister, the people you defend abandoned you with empty promises of aid. Can you not see the same has happened to young Keith? Will you guide him to embrace My Eternal Light?**

Powerful deep emotion filled me. Lord Prime found purpose in me, entrusted me with a task to help Keith. His hand stroked my cheek, and I daringly kissed his wrist. "Yes, Lord Prime, I shall guide him."


	7. Reason and Devotion

"Are you angry with me?"

He was sitting against the wall with his shoulders hunched and legs stretched before him. With his head turned away, he muttered, "What do you think?"

It was the better part of a day before the clones came and released him from the restraints. While the temptation to attack was strong, his injuries were too severe for him to fight. And while two clones released him, a third held a gun on him. Keith judged it too risky to attempt an escape without knowing whether it was set to a lethal setting or not. Plus, they didn't fully release all of his restraints; a shackle around his right ankle remained. It allowed him to walk the whole space of the cell, except for the doorway, of course.

Now he could see the door and saw faint images through the green energy field. One was taller than the other with telltale pointed ears while the smaller one had a petite frame. He backed away from the doorway and sat against the wall. The chain hissed across the floor as he went, a constant reminder that it was there.

The energy field dropped Bridget Walsh and a clone standing side by side as if they were waiting in line for movie tickets. Walsh carried another tray with a meal, and the clone held a thick bundle in both arms. Keith regarded them coolly and remained silent as Walsh lead the way inside.

"I hope you're more comfortable now," she said as pleasantly as if they were neighbors bringing welcome to the neighborhood gifts. "I asked if it was alright for you to have a bed, and Horde Prime allowed it."

His eyes followed the clone where it carried the bundle to the middle of the room and set it down. Walsh comradely touched it's arm and politely said, "Please, leave us alone for a bit."

"Prime's will is close, sister."

"Thank you, brother."

When the energy shield was raised with the clone on the other side, Keith snorted, "I fail to see the family resemblance."

"They're a tight-knit group, and they sorta took me in," Walsh explained. "They see everyone as brothers and sisters, part of a greater whole. I brought you dinner."

"You can set it down and go," Keith muttered.

"Are you angry with me?" Her voice was bewildered as if she didn't have a clue about what she had done.

"How much did you tell them?" Keith demanded. "About Shiro and Voltron?"

"You mean what we talked about last time?" Walsh asked, inclining her head. "He asked about Voltron, and I told him what I knew about it, which isn't very much."

"You haven't been in his clutches for a few days, and you're already turning traitor?"

She dared to look hurt and surprised. "Wh-where is this coming from? What do you mean to call me that?"

"You've been giving him information!" Keith cried, pushing himself to stand despite his body protesting with aches and pains that made him wince.

"Because we're on the same side," Bridget said, lowering the trail onto the floor near the bed. "Horde Prime is destroying the Galra Empire, and He's been making short work of it too. So yes, I told him everything I knew about Galra territory, just as I did when I was spying for your people."

"And about Voltron and Shiro!" Keith limped towards her until he was standing toe to toe with her.

They were almost the same height, on eye level, and she returned his fierce gaze with her own. "Yes, I did. Horde Prime is a newcomer to this part of space," she spoke in a low voice, never looking away from his accusing eyes. "He wanted to know if Voltron was going to be a threat and was reassured when I told Him that Voltron was only after the Galra Empire and to bring order and peace to the Universe."

"They attacked me!" Keith blurted out, refusing to let go of his righteous anger with her.

"Yes! They did! They've been at war with the Galra for weeks, and you stowaway on Horde Prime's flagship with Galra DNA, wearing Galra clothing and wielding a Galra weapon. What were they supposed to think, Keith? They thought you were a Galra assassin coming for their leader."

"Then why don't they let me go if we're all friends?" He was losing ground in this argument, but everything she told him was solid after some thought. Had he been too impulsive again?

"I saw the path of destruction you wrought when they tried to apprehend you," Walsh said in a leveled tone. "Did you even try to talk to them before ripping them like a bloody chainsaw?"

Had he been too impulsive again? Would Shiro have tried talking to the clones? He could imagine Shiro raising his hands and asking to speak with their leader. While he was quick to go into battle, he was just swift to find a peaceful solution. Even Kolivan had warned Keith of being impetuous in the field. Would it really have been that simple?

"Then let me talk to their leader now . . ."

"That's not going to happen," Walsh said, shaking her head. "The clones have a fail-safe installed to protect their leader. After what you did, there is no way they will let you anywhere near Horde Prime. Even my vouching for you won't sway them, not until you prove you are no longer a threat."

"Shit," Keith hissed at himself. "Can you get word to Shiro?"

Walsh sighed, sharing in his frustration at him. "And I have no idea how intergalactic communication works. I was a slave until a few days ago with no way to contact anyone off Zenana. Horde Prime cannot jeopardize His operations to call us a ride home. At least, not right now. So please, just be patient for a few days until things settle down."

***

Shiro had told me about the orphan boy he loved as a brother many times. He reminded me of a wild animal in a cage. Silent, sulking, with an undercurrent of bristling anger at his situation. He was the sort that didn't feel comfortable until he was doing something, and being forced to sit in a cell with a chain on his foot tested his patience.

Horde Prime was interested in Keith and wanted him to join His Eternal Light. A small part of me was envious of the allure Keith held for Lord Prime despite it not being my place to question it. The Eternal Lord had his reasons and plans for Keith and myself, and I simply must obey him in bringing Keith around. However, I knew it wouldn't be easy as Keith was a loner, and I doubted he had ever been part of something larger than himself.

And I wanted Keith to experience the Lord's Light for himself. I was fortunate to be born to a father who provided everything I needed and wanted as a child. I never had to experience the uncertain nature of the overburdened American foster care system nor lived in a community where I wasn't cared for and known. Not until . . .

A wave of sadness rolled over me as I recalled the Galra invasion that shattered my life. And with it came more unwanted memories of loss and pain and misery. The sudden pressure squeezed my chest, and I swallowed it back, trying to will it away.

My companion halted as a spasm passed through his body. His ears cast downward as his body bent backward like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Thinking he was experiencing a seizure, I went over to catch him if he should fall, until his body suddenly straightened in a smooth motion.

An uncharacteristic smile spread across his face as his eyes, and a soft green glowed brightly with white orbs. "Dear sister, how is our guest?"

Though the clones spoke with His voice, their manner of speech was a soft, polite monotone. This clone was speaking with every inflection of emotion. The change was so staggering I was taken aback and unable to speak.

The clone pressed a palm against my cheek. The warmth of his skin was a soothing balm to my sadness. "Is our guest, Keith, comfortable?"

It was Him, Lord Horde Prime. I felt it more in His touch than saw it in His eyes. The way the hand curved along with the structure of my skull, the thumb stroking the soft skin between the corner of my eye and cheekbone and how the claw tips threaded through my hair.

Habitually, my eyes lowered from his. It had been drilled into me to avoid direct eye contact with Galra; it was a challenge to them, and slaves weren't worth the honor. A finger lifted my face by the chin, and I beheld those white orbs.

Euphoria filled me, bringing tears to my eyes, and my heart soared with love for him. I wanted to touch him, to draw my hands up his sides and around him, to feel the muscles twitch beneath my fingers and feel him drawing breath in his chest. To do so would be too audacious, so I kept my hands clenched together before me.

"Thank you, Lord Prime. Your Light has taken away my sadness."

**Is Keith willing to come into My Light?**

I hoped He wouldn't expect too much so soon. And it hurt me to disappoint him. "Not yet. Keith is angry and spirited. I need time to get to know him so I can convince him to accept Your Light."

His head tilted a slight tug at the corner of the mouth. Cold fear seeped through the euphoria as I feared his next words would be a harsh rebuke. Both hands cupped the back of my neck, the fingers kneading at the skin lightly, a comforting sensation as I rolled my head back.

**I know you will make him see, Beloved. You will not fail in this.**

I was so pleased that he wasn't angry with me, that I never noted the hard side of his warning. I pressed my hands over his, marveling at how gentle he was with me.

**You will rest in one of the guest quarters.**

"Not in the dormitories with the others?" I asked, surprised. I had found comfort in sleeping near the others rescued from Zenana. They had endured the same as me and found salvation in Horde Prime's Light. And it was nice to see familiar faces among the sea of white visages.

**You are being raised, Beloved Sister. Prove yourself with Keith, and you will rise further.**

"It's not about rising up," I whispered. "I want to help Keith . . .and -" I was too embarrassed to finish with saying I wanted to please Him, but He knew my mind.

**Your devotion is beautiful. Come to My throne room. We shall enjoy another excursion into your memories together.**

A drop of fear soured my joy, and I didn't understand why. I don't remember much of what happened whenever He looked into my memories. There was always a string of dread surrounding my heart, sickenly familiar as the dread I felt when serving the Galra.

After giving my cheeks a light pinch, He left the body of the clone. The transition was abrupt, with the clone's eyes returning to a solid green shade and the smile dropping into a thin line. When he spoke, gone was the amicable inflection, and it was back to being low monotone.

"Come this way, Beloved Sister."

I followed him. My first day aboard the Velvet Glove, I tried to memorize the way, but each hallway was identical as the next with no signs or symbols to indicate purpose, section, or direction. It was no wonder that Keith kept going around in circles before he was captured.

I spared a thought for the other freed people of Zenana. Would they notice my not being among them? Was it possible to expect any of them to miss me? We were never allowed to be close, and friendships were only in passing and brief as designed by Zenana's conditioning. Yet, a part of me hoped I had left some impression upon them.

***

One by one, the samples were being disposed of in quiet experimentation. Their biochemistry was being recorded in a database to be used to plan future war plans for their home planets. Weaknesses were logged, and strengths studied so that they might be overcome. Not to mention the wealth of information he gleaned from those who accepted to Embrace His Light. Their minds yielded topographies of their home planets and others they had visited in such brief life spans.

Initially, the Walsh would have shared in their fate, but after exploring her mind and encapsulating her blind devotion to him, he found a use for her yet. She was attractive without being intimidating and spoke in a pleasant voice that others would want to hear. And there was a fire, a passion that he enjoyed stoking through simple words and small touches. She still had those useless emotions of compassion and empathy, but he was confident he condition her to ignore those impulses of weakness and see only His Light.

And as for Keith, the ex-Paladin of Voltron, he was quite interesting. Fearsome in spirit like an uncontrollable inferno, which made Horde Prime want to bring him to heel all the more. That one would prove to be a test of the Beloved Sister's capabilities of spreading his Message of Peace and Order to the Universe as his Missionary. And Keith may yet serve a purpose in his Empire.

After all, all creatures have a place in service of Horde Prime.


	8. Memory: Stealing Custody

It was easier to get the address than Keith would have thought. The man didn't have many friends, and it only took buying a round of drinks for patrons to divulge where he was holed up. The hovercar flowed across the sea of roaming city lights as ads flashed brightly across the windshield. 

Bridget had called him hours ago for his help. 

"I heard you were on the planet and . . .dammit, I wouldn't bother you with this, but I don't know who else to turn to."

He had connections and skills that not many others had. In this situation, he was what she needed, and when she explained what was happening, he needed no further convincing to help. He was on the next shuttle across the planet to the city and met up with Sam and Eric.

They had managed to track the target to an urban district, but the city's districts were vast and overpopulated, housing nearly a 500,000 population. It was looking for a grain of salt in a bucket of sand. 

Sam and Eric met him at the station and filled him on the details of their search. The target is an ex-fighter pilot of the defunct Galra Empire who had fallen on hard times with drinking, gambling, and debt. A common sight of Galra who still clung to the tenets of the eons-old Empire. Not many are willing to adapt to change. What brought this one under Bridget's scrutiny is that he married a widow with two small half-Galra children. 

"There is something I do not understand," the smooth, cultured voice of the passenger seat's occupant spoke up, cutting through the ambiance of the dark and bright city. 

Keith glanced towards the clone, Sam, with a curiously raised eyebrow. "And what's that?"

"If they are not his children, then why does he claim them? He abused and starved them ever since he paired with their mother. Why not hand them over to Bridget after his mate's passing?" Sam asked solemn green eyes. Not the sickly neon green of his original eye color, but a warm jade color that stood out against his snow-white face. His hair was colored to a rich auburn that made his eyes almost glow. 

Keith had wondered if the clone had chosen those colors to match Bridget, or was it part of his forming personality. Chewing his lower lip, Keith experienced the discomfort when he had to explain the Galra inclinations. He was only half Galra, but it was a part of him that he had embraced and had come to terms with; warts and all. 

"Galra aren't pragmatic when it comes to their pride," Keith explained. "Since he married their mother and she's the weaker partner, he sees everything that was hers as his now. Ever since the Galra Empire fell, there's been a lot like him trying to carve out his own turf through crime or gangs. Since he's not strong enough to take territory, he did it through familial ties. The mother was desperate to find a mate that could support her and her children, so she married him, and he saw her as a means to make himself feel powerful."

"That's. . .quite toxic," Sam put it eloquently. 

"Yeah, but there are millions like him. Without the old Empire keeping them in line or giving them something to aspire to, they don't know what to do with themselves," Keith said with a tired sigh. There were still pockets of Galra Imperialism that refused to surrender to the Coalition and harassed trade routes and colonies. "So, what's the story with the kids? How is Bridget involved?"

It's been years since he last saw Bridget. It hadn't been a good parting, and he was stunned when she asked him for help.

"Bridget was speaking at a shelter for ex-slaves and victims of abuse when she met Risa, the children's mother," Sam explained as the bright lights rolled across his face, making his green eyes glow like emeralds. "A few months ago, Risa fled to the shelter when her husband became violent. He broke her arm when she stopped him from beating one of the children. Bridget befriended her and tried to help her."

"Let me guess," Keith said, having seen this many times during his years in foster care. "She went back to him."

"Yes. She said it was the Galra way for the strong to rule the weak," Sam replied. 

"Even though the sonuvbitch was hurting her kids?" Keith said, rolling his eyes. "Whatever, what happened to her? Since she's dead, does that mean . . .?"

"No, he didn't murder Risa if that's what you're thinking," Sam shook his head. "She died of a lung disease that went undiagnosed. Unfortunately, she died before she had a chance to sign over custody of the children to Bridget's organization."

"Organisation? What?" It would seem that Bridget left out some details during their exchange. Was she hiding something?

"It's a humanitarian aid for orphans and abused children," Sam said, ignorant of Keith's suspicions. "Particularly half-Galra or hybrids who aren't accepted by Galra or other races."

Even during the Empire's most influential years, children of mixed blood were despised and shunned by their Galra parents, most of which were accidents of liaisons, rape, and sexual slavery. Very few Galra accepted into the Galra ranks, but only after they had proven themselves well in combat and came from a respected Galra parent. The others weren't so lucky, and with the hatred of former masters still strong among the freed people, these poor souls weren't openly embraced by their other parents' people. Even years after the fall of the Empire, half-Galra were harassed and refused entry at jobs and schools. The only safe places for them are Earth and Etheria since both planets weren't steeped in the history of Galra conquest and slavery.

"What about the father? He's not in the picture?" Keith asked.

"No, but Risa wouldn't speak of him. We tried to learn of his identity so we can build a case to get the children away from their step-father, but we haven't had much luck."

As they drew close to the massive wing of apartment buildings, with tiny rooms crammed in tight-knit rows, Keith located an open parking spot near their destination. He took a route that took them the long way around and out of view. It was possible they weren't expected, but his training had ingrained him to always err on the side of caution. 

"Let me get this straight. Are we kidnapping these kids?" Keith asked, almost incredulous.

"Technically, but it's not illegal," Sam explained, hand tightening on the handle above his head as the car took a sudden descent. "No one has custody of the children since the mother died without a will or signing custody over to anyone. And since the step-father is not the biological father, he has no claim over them either. This planet's law enforcement will not stop us from taking them, but they won't help us."

"There's no CPS . . .I mean, Child Protective Services?"

"There is, but's a very broken and overly burdened system so many children fall through the cracks," Sam said, seemingly relieved when the car coasted along the pavement, closer to the ground. "It's the reason why Bridget came to this planet. She brings children of mixed Galra heritage to safe orphanages where they can grow up without the other races' prejudices."

As the car landed in an assigned spot, Keith powered off the car and thought for a minute. "Bridget's organization . . .is it the Right to Love group?"

Sam met his gaze with an unbroken gaze of emeralds. "I cannot say."

"Hey, I'm on your side. I'm helping you save these kids," Keith pointed out. 

"That is true," Sam conceded. "However, it does not grant you to know everything."

Keith couldn't fault Sam with being so guarded. The Right to Love had been targeted with death threats, and more than one radical group declaring they would burn it to the ground with all the evil children of Galra blood inside. How did Bridget set it all up? The last time he had seen her had been in a mental hospital suffering from clinical depression and dissociation disorder. 

Keith climbed out of the car, and Sam followed him around the back of the vehicle. Popping the trunk revealed a black case that Keith opened. Inside, velvety slots were two guns, a short sword encased in an ebony sheath, and a knife. He took a gun and tucked it into the holster at the base of his spine and pocketed the knife. Picking up the other gun, he offered it to Sam.

"You may need this."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. 

"He's Galra and an ex-soldier too. He will be armed, and he has a history of being violent," Keith explained. 

"I'm aware of that. I have my own gun," Sam said, opening his jacket and showing off the holster with his own gun clipped inside. 

"Do you know how to use that?" Keith asked.

"Yes. I have protected Bridget before."

That brought up a lot of questions that he would ask later. He checked in with the other half of their team and nodded to Sam. "Let's go, but slowly to give them time to get in position."

They both left the expansive parking lot and headed for the apartment buildings. The wind tossed litter against their shoes while a cleaning droid wrestled a plastic wrapper from a rodent-like creature. The rodent shrieked at them and scampered away, leaving the droid victorious with the wrapper. Keith wondered if it would be so easy to wrest the kids free from their step-father. 

The best-case scenario is if the man willingly hands over the kids. He might be willing to hand them over once he realized that he'd be the sole caregiver. Shit, who was he kidding. The man was Galra, intergalactic warriors with a long history of power-seeking and conquering. He wouldn't give up what he perceived as his without a fight. Their best bet was he was passed out from drinking too much, and they could break in and spirit the children away.

It was safer to expect the fight. The only challenge was to keep the children from being harmed. Keith could see a hostage situation arise or the kid being caught in the crossfire. Guns shouldn't be used unless necessary, which was just as well for him. Keith was lethal in melee combat, but the mission was not to kill.

Damn, the Blade of Mamora training had stayed with him after so many years, long after the wars had ended.

It was a twenty minutes walk and a long elevator ride to the right apartment. Keith checked in periodically with the other team, and they waited at the row of flats for an update. After listening for a moment, he nodded. "There's a window and a backdoor. They are going to confirm that the kids are there and that he's alone."

"He has the children," Sam affirmed with a solid nod. 

"He took the kids from the hospital daycare, but that doesn't mean he didn't drop them off somewhere before coming here." Keith adjusted his coat to make sure it laid over his gun but left enough room for him to grasp it if things went south. "I'm surprised Bridget didn't come herself."

"She wanted to, but I forbade her from coming," the clone said solemnly.

"You forbid her?" It was incredulous to imagine the clone exerting any authority over Bridget, especially this one. 

She is my Horde Prime.

"I told her she would be useless in a confrontation," Sam explained. "She would put the children and us in jeopardy. If she wanted to help, then she should stay behind and pray for us."

"She's praying?" Keith felt his throat go tight.

"Not to Horde Prime. The Father of Jesus of Nazareth."

Drawing a deep breath, Keith felt something untighten in his stomach. He never had the chance to know Bridget before the Galra Invasion, but he understood that she had been a devout Catholic. To hear that she reclaimed her faith made him happier than he would have thought.

There was another buzz in his ear comm. "They were able to confirm that he's alone inside, but couldn't see the kids."

"If he doesn't have the children, then he will know where they are," Sam said, in a deep resonance that set Keith's teeth on edge. "And he will tell us."

It wouldn't be the first time they had interrogated someone for information. 

"Let's go."

It had been many years since he was the Paladin of the Red Lion, so hopefully, if the step-father ever saw his face on a Galra wanted poster, it had been long enough that he would not recognize him. And Keith had aged since then and now sported a Galra marking. Just in case, he would hang back behind Sam and let him do the talking.

Hopefully, this wouldn't end in violence, but Keith was ready for it if it did.

Sam glanced at him with an unreadable emotion and then rapped his knuckles on the door. There was a faint cursing and thumping from within. Keith listened hard for any crying or children's voices but didn't hear anything. Were they asleep in a room the others couldn't see? Or were they not here?

When the door opened, a haze of booze, old food, and unwashed bodies wafted over them. Keith blinked his eyes several times to prevent them from watering and wondered how Sam could stand it with his stronger sense of smell. The Galra filling the doorway loomed over them at 8 feet. He had been well built at one point, but it had all gone to bulk and fat with thick flabby upper arms and a paunch growing into a beer belly. He eyed them through slitted yellow eyes, slowly registering them through a drunken state.

"Mr. Hirest," Sam said in a perfectly professional polite voice. "We came to give our condolences for the passing of your wife."

Hirest blinked, completely taken aback. "She died this morning."

"We received the news a few hours ago," Sam replied. "It must be difficult to lose a mate."

"It was," Hirest scratched the underside of his chin. "All those medical bills, and she still died."

Sam nodded sympathetically. "Ah, yes, and they will send collectors for the rest."

"Fucking scavengers," Hirest growled. "This would never have happened under Emperor Zarkon's rule."

Keith felt his jaw tighten at the mention of that name, but stayed silent and let Sam handle this for now. He saw what the clone was doing in reminding Hirest of his financial situation and would eventually point out the burden of caring for two small children who would bring him. If Sam were smart, he would run circles around Hirest with logic and misdirection that Hirest would think it his idea to give the children up.

"How have you been doing?" Sam inquired, gently moving the topic away from a taboo subject. "It must have been a blow when you heard the news."

Hirest snorted. "She was a good cook and cleaned before she got sick."

"She must have cared for you," Sam said gently.

He couldn't outright ask about the kids. Sam was trying to get Hirest to bring up the children's topic, which would open the door for him conversationally. 

Unfortunately, Hirest was peering closely at Sam. "Hey, you . . .I think I know you."

"You must be mistaking me for one of my brothers," Sam said in a way to indicate this had been done many times before. "We are clones, after all."

"No, no, no, I do know you . . .you're that red bitch's pet," Hirest lips pulled back into a snarl. "The one that tried to seduce my wife away from me."

If Sam took any offense to Bridget being insulted, he didn't show. "I can assure you that her interest in your wife was not sexual." 

"Because you were the one satisfying that ex-whore?" Hirest leered. "That ex-Zenana slut?"

There was tension in Sam's shoulders that Keith recognized as the same he was feeling in his fists. His youth's impulsiveness was behind him, but the temptation to deck this sonuvbitch was almost too tempting to resist. 

"Since you know who I am, then you must have realized why I've come," Sam replied in a steely tone. "Your late wife doesn't wish you to raise the children alone, nor do I believe you want them. We've come to take them off your hands. They will be well cared for . . ."

"Shut up, clone," Hirest snapped. "No one is taking my children anywhere."

"They aren't your children," Sam persisted. "It's true you are they're step-father, but you've abused them."

"Little half-breed shits need to learn their place."

Plan A had failed. Keith could see Hirest's crest beginning to rise, and the fur around his neck thicken, a sign that a Galra was about to become violent. He hoped that Sam recognized the sign, too, and was ready. In a motion of scratching his ear, Keith tapped the earbud twice, signaling the others.

"Mr. Hirest, we cannot allow you to keep the children," Sam said. "Let us take them somewhere they'll be cared for, and you'll never see or hear from us again."

"If you want them, then take them," Hirest said savagely. 

"Okay," Keith said curtly. 

As quick as a blur, he punched Hirest in the throat. It took a jump to connect, but when it did, it resulted in a satisfying croak from the Galra. Taking advantage of the surprise, Keith propelled him back into the apartment by shoving a shoulder into his middle. Hirest fell back, claws grasping the air as he struggled to regain his balance and breath. 

Sam barreled into the room close behind Keith and swung wide. His fist connected with Hirest's jaw, flooring the taller man. And in one motion, they both pulled their weapons and aimed them at Hirest's prone body.

"Don't fucking move," Keith snapped. "In case you don't recognize me, I'm Keith Kogane. You might know me as the second Red Paladin on Voltron, Pilot of the Red Lion."

Hirest wheezed, eyes watering from being choked and glowing hotly with hate. Keith could see the recognition in them and nod. "Yeah, you know who I am now, and you know I won't think twice about adding your name to the long, long list of Galra shitheads I've killed. Where are the kids?"

"They're back here!"

Keith and Sam were too well trained to take their eyes from a target. Sam nodded, and Keith backed away until he could walk around in a wide berth from Hirest. Where had the voice come from? A kitchen and an open door were leading into a bedroom. He headed for it and collided with an invisible body. In reflex, he backed up with his gun raised, but finger off the trigger when he realized who it was.

The air before him wavered, and Ezor stood before him with an amused smirk. "Scared you?"

"You were waiting to do that all night," Keith muttered. "Where are they?"

"Bedroom closet. It doesn't look pretty." 

"Shit," Keith muttered, brushing past her. "Help Sam keep an eye on him."

"Right, I know the drill," Ezor sighed in a bored manner.

The bedroom was littered with takeout food boxes, dirty clothes, and the bed was a mass of sheets and pillows. Eric, another clone that worked for Bridget, was kneeling at the open door of a closet and speaking softly. 

"It's alright. You're safe now," the blue-haired clone promised. With eyes matching the hair, he glanced at Keith as he entered the room and made a motion to come closer. 

Take care not to make any sudden movements, Keith knelt beside Eric and peered into the closet. At the bottom, a crude nest formed from old clothes, towels, and threadbare blankets. Huddled together, peering at them with huge amber eyes, were two little Galra. The male had both arms wrapped tightly around the female infant, and ears folded back as his lips quivered in a low hiss. The infant appeared to be six months old and was no bigger than a human infant. Though Galra tended to grow to above-average height, they started off quite small like human children. The baby blinked at them, her mouth moving in a nursing manner.

Upon seeing Keith, the boy's fierce features relaxed as he curiously sniffed the air. "You're like her . . .The nice lady who gives us treats."

Keith could guess whom he was speaking of. "You mean the woman with red hair, Bridget?" I look human, but I'm actually half Galra." He turned his face so they could see his Galra marking. 

The boy didn't relax, but he didn't ease his grip on his sister. "Where's Mum? When is she coming to get us?"

It was like a rock that had fallen into his stomach. The sonuvbitch hadn't bothered to break the news to his stepchildren that their mother had passed away. A glance at Eric only provided him a dire shrug from the clone as he had no idea of what to say. "She can't come, but we can take you somewhere safe."

The boy looked between them uncertainly. He looked pure Galra, but there were slight differences that marked him as a half-breed. His eyes were a touch too large, and his fur was thin with ears tapered downward instead of upward, which was the norm for Galra. The infant shared the same features save for the white marks at the tips of the ears. 

"C'mon, kid," Keith said, holding out his hand. "Do you really want to stay here with your step-father?"

And that sealed it. The boy stood, hefting his sister up into his arms, refusing to relinquish her to them. It was odd for Galra siblings to be so close as sibling rivalry for food, and parental attention was an innate instinct. Still, Keith supposed that a common enemy could overcome any feud, or maybe it was their biological father blood overcoming the Galra side. 

"What's your name, kid?" Keith asked, leading the boy by the hand towards the bedroom door. Craning his head out, he could see that Hirest was still prone on the floor and Sam hadn't eased his stance. 

“Reku and this is Mala.”

"Okay, we're going out through the front. Stay close to me and look ahead. Eric is going to walk right beside us."

Using their bodies, they blocked Reku's view of Hirest. Sam was the last one out and quietly closed the door and followed them. Walking as far as they could with Reku's shorter stride, Keith slowed until his footsteps matched Sam's. "Where to now?"

"We're in a hotel suite with security under a different name," Sam explained. "We'll take them there and tend to their needs until our private shuttle is ready to take us off-planet."

Keith nodded, agreeing with the plan to make a swift exit off the planet if Hirest made enough noise to involve outsiders who may protest a Galra losing what he perceived as his property. Galra didn't see children as individuals, but assets and extensions of the parent. "We'll go with you to make sure you get there safe."

"It's appreciated."

They all fit in the car with Ezor and Eric in the back seat with Reku and Mala nested between them while Sam and Keith are in the front. Keith punched into the GPS a location outside of the apartments but took another detour to ensure they wouldn't be seen on the way out. Once they were well outside, he allowed Sam to provide the hotel's name.

Keith's eyebrows arched when he heard it. "Bridget can afford a ritzy place like that?"

"Bridget has funds at her disposal and donations from several benefactors who support her purpose." 

"Benefactors?" What had Bridget been doing since he last saw her?

"I'm not able to say much more," Sam replied sincerely. "You are aware of the hate people still harbor for the Galra. Even an orphanage for Galra children would be too tempting a target for some radical groups."

Keith had been one of the lucky few half-Galra that could easily pass for the species of his non-Galra parent, his father. Others weren't so lucky such as Ezor and others who were shunned by both sides. 

Sam provided the GPS with a private parking spot in the hotel's secure garage and login with a password. Once it was registered, the garage doors opened for them, and they coasted inside. By then, Reku had allowed Eric to hold Mala while he slept with his head on Ezor's lap. He stirred awake when Ezor picked him up and handed him over to Sam. 

"Are we there?" He murmured as Sam hefted him onto his hip. 

"Yes, we're here."

Keith stayed in the car, taking some satisfaction in a job and good deed done. He overheard Sam talking to someone over his ear comm.

"Yes, they're safe and with us. We're on our way up with them. Yes . . .he's here."

Keith sat up slightly, listening intently. 

"Yes, I'll tell him."

His hands tightened on the steering wheel and maintained a relaxed recline as Sam appeared at the door. 

"Bridget wants to see you."

"She doesn't have to thank me," Keith muttered. 

"She wants to talk to you," Sam replied. His expression was unreadable, a blank clone's face. "If you don't wish to see her . . ."

"I'll come."

***

"I'm hungry," Reku said as they entered the suite.

"You'll have something to eat soon," Sam promised him. "But first, you're getting a bath."

"No! I don't wanna bath." Reku whined, arching his back against Sam's grasp. 

"Yes, Miss Bridget will insist," Sam said, carrying Reku to the next room. "She believes that clean children are healthy children." To Keith, he said, "Have a seat. I'll be right back."

Keith didn't sit; it was like electrical thrills coursing through his limbs. Anxiety chewed his insides and tried as he might, he couldn't relax. How many years had it been since he was in the same building as Bridget? Ten years? Maybe more?

They didn't part on good terms. She had screamed, thrown things at him, and called him a traitor with a fury that would have killed him on the spot if she had a weapon. Is that why she asked to see him? To kill him? 

No, he was letting paranoia get to him. Bridget wasn't like that . . .not even under Horde Prime's control would she do something so malicious as to trick him into a trap. Not with two small children, just a room away. 

"Forgive the wait," Sam said, startling him. The clone had changed into comfortable house clothes with a white cardigan sweater and long cotton pants. He had switched from boots to soft sandals, which made no sound on the carpet. "Bridget is bathing the children with Eric. I'm going to prepare them a meal, but I can also serve you some coffee while you wait." 

"Uh, coffee sounds fine," Keith said, realizing he hadn't slept for almost two days. After he heard whatever Bridget had to say, he needed to return to his safehouse and catch up on sleep. 

Sam led him into a fully furnished kitchen with a stove and fridge with a small table he sat at while Sam bustled about the kitchen to set the coffee to brew. The cabinets were already well stocked with boxes of food and cans. Sam selected a box of cereal and a can of pureed meat, which he dished into a bowl and tucked into a microwave like device. Then he went to the fridge and pulled out a bag of milk. 

He moved with the silent grace of the clone valets that had served Horde Prime and his 'guests.' Quiet, efficient, and deliberate in all his actions, Sam made the simple act of heating milk like a soundless mime. 

"Uh, how long have you been with Bridget," Keith asked. It was too quiet, setting him on edge and watching Sam brings back memories he rather stayed buried. His therapist insisted that instead of brooding in the past, talking about the present would ground him. 

"I never left her side," Sam replied, pouring the milk into a bottle. Once filled, he tied off the bag with a plastic tie and set it back into the fridge. 

Keith looked at the bottle and the kids' cereal box sitting on the counter. "Do you usually carry kids stuff around?"

"In our line of work, yes," Sam said, screwing on the bottle nipple and inserting it into a warmer. After setting the timer, he collected the pureed meat from the microwave and placed it on the counter to cool. "We never know when we'll be taking a child to the sanctuary, so we're always prepared to meet their needs, whether it's food, clothes, toys, or medicine."

"Or a bath," Keith replied, recalling Bridget's cleaning habits.

Sam was filling a mug with coffee and set it before him. "What have you been doing?"

Keith was surprised by the question. The Sam he remembered has been quiet and reserved, not speaking up unless it's in Bridget's favor or behalf. To show any interest in others was a step forward from his time as a brother in Horde Prime's cult. "Working for the Blade of Mamora."

It felt strange to stay the name out loud now. It had been such a secretive sect that didn't dare reveals its name lest it faced annihilation by the Galra Empire. Now it was public, out in the open, but did cover operations to maintain peace and order in the Coalition. And some of those jobs involved humanitarian aid to areas ravaged by war, natural disasters, or disease. 

The mug was warm to his fingertips, and he took a cautious sip. It was bitter but did the job of feeding caffeine into his system. "How . . .how is Bridget?"

"She's well," Sam replied. "There are bad days, but those are few and far between. As long as she's busy with her work, she's fine."

"Has she . . .has she met her son?"

There was a long pause. "She has exchanged emails with him. They have been in touch for five years now."

He knew what it was like not to know your mother for years. Bridget could have reunited with Connor many years ago if Horde Prime hadn't fucked up her mind. That was one of the countless sins Horde Prime had done to them. To all of them. 

Sam stirred the cereal into the pureed meat and checked the bottle's temperature before setting it on the counter. Then he collected the bowl and regarded Keith with an unreadable clone expression. "Bridget is happy that you are here."

Before Keith could think of anything to say, Sam left the room without another word or glance. Taking another long sip of coffee, Keith considered just going before she came. Seeing her again would bring up more unwanted memories. His therapist didn't want him dwelling on the past but didn't want him to run from it. 

Maybe she would see this as a chance to make amends with it.

The door opened before he could decide what he wanted to do, and the decision was taken away. Bridget was holding Mala, who was in a clean pair of pajamas and looked better than she did in the closet. She was squirming in the crook of Bridget's arm, whining, and begging for sustenance.

"One moment, love, let me get it," Bridget crooned to her.

Seeing Bridget again was like a warm wind blowing across his chest. Old ghosts of feelings, both real and manufactured, surfaced, and Keith looked away as the emotions almost overwhelmed him. Swallowing, he ducked his head and blinked until the tears receded. 

Bridget's unbound hair flowed over her shoulders, and there were tired lines around her eyes as she collected the milk from where Sam had left it on the counter. Hefting Mala against her shoulder, she sat opposite Keith and arranged Mala in her arms. The baby squirmed, kicking and grasping at her arm with tiny claws, and when Bridget gave her the bottle, the little girl suckled hungrily. Soon a low purr could be heard over the wet-nursing sounds. Bridget gave her a small rock to soothe her and finally turned her attention to him.

His mouth was dry, and he bought himself time to think of what to say, by taking another sip of coffee. "How is Reku?"

"Stuffing himself full in the next room," Bridget said. "I don't think they've been properly fed since their mother took ill."

"Have you told Reku . . ."

"I'm going to wait until tomorrow morning. These kids deserve to have a meal and a good night's rest before I break the news." She looked somberly at the baby, and Keith wondered if she was thinking about Connor, who hadn't been much older when she was taken from his life. He was startled when she raised her eyes to his. "How is Shiro?"

"He's fine," Keith said, rubbing the back of his head. "We're. . .we're dating now."

"Oh?" Bridget said, interested. "What about . . .oh, I can't remember his name . . .Kurt?"

"Curtis . . . yeah, they were an item for a while," Keith said, recalling the swarthy man Shiro had dated for nearly a year. "They broke up when Curtis was transferred to an outer system. Shiro was devoted to his Atlas crew and his work for the Coalition. 

"Are . . . are you happy together?"

Was she clinging to old feelings? No, there were no feelings. Only Horde Prime's machinations, but even then, it was hard to tell them apart from what's true. "Yes, we're happy . . .actually . . .we're going to move in together."

"That's wonderful news. I'm happy for you."

Mala paused in drinking to stretch her limbs and give a large yawn where her small tongue peeked out to lick a droplet at the edge of her mouth. Bridget dabbed at her mouth with a towel draped over her shoulder and reinserted the bottle before she could whine for more. 

"Are . . .are you and Sam together?"

Bridget pursed her lips in thought. "I . . . I'm not sure how to answer that question. While Eric has been in healthy relationships, Sam and I . . .I' don't what you would call what it is between us. Maybe co-dependence? We're not together as you would call a relationship, though we have been living together like a couple. He wouldn't oppose it if I found someone else, but . . . I'm not someone that can have a healthy relationship. Not anymore."

Bridget had spent nearly two years as a slave on a Galra pleasure station being forced to submit to whatever the Galra wanted of her. Being conditioned to be submissive made her ripe for Horde Prime's indoctrination and manipulation. She had been devoted to him until the very end and even afterward couldn't let him go.

"It's none of my business, but . . .have you been to see a therapist?" 

"The last time I saw a therapist . . ." Bridget looked away, her hand lightly toyed with one of Mala's feet in a coping mechanism. ". . .was the day when they released me from the psych ward."

"Holy shit, Bridget," Keith breathed. Even he couldn't imagine how he would have turned out if Shiro hadn't convinced him to give therapy a chance. "What about your family? Sam said, you were in touch with your son, but what about your father and Eva?"

"We're still in touch," Bridget said in a low voice. "I . . .said some cruel things to them when they were trying to help me. . . just as I was cruel to you."

"No, don't," Keith shook his head, setting aside the mug now empty and cold. "That wasn't you. That was Horde Prime's doing."

"You know that's not completely true," Bridget gave him a sad smile. "He may be able to fabricate lies and illusions in our heads, but most of it is manipulating what's already there. If I didn't have those feelings, to begin with, then he wouldn't have had something to use against them or me."

"So you had some resentment or anger towards your family," Keith tossed up his hands. "So did I! Towards Shiro for disappearing on the Kerberos mission, for being missing for so long even though it wasn't his fault. Who doesn't have something about their family or friends they resent. Horde Prime twists things around to get you to do what he wanted."

"And he didn't have to do much twisting with me. I swallowed everything he told me . . Even when I tried to rise above his lies, to question him, he would give me one of those looks, and I'd fall back into line."

Keith flashed back to a white face with four eyes. It was a face that usually smiled or had a peaceful countenance, until something, however small, went against what he wanted or designed. Then the smile would fade, the two large eyes would lose all warmth, and you knew you were in trouble when the three eyes all did a descending blink.

A shiver crawled down his spine, but he shook off the memory, refusing to allow Horde Prime to influence him after so long. "I was there, Bridget, I know what you're talking about. It's like being held underwater, and sometimes you manage to break the surface for a breath only for him to shove you back deeper under his control."

There was a long moment of silence between them. It lay thick like a solid wall, and it was broken when Mala whined, pushing away the empty bottle, and arching her back against Bridget's shoulder. Setting the bottle down, Bridget turned the baby around against her shoulder and gave her several solid pats between the shoulder blades. "Shhh, darling, let's have a burp or two before we go to sleep."

"So . . .how did you come into this role?" Keith asked. "Rescuing children from abusive homes?"

"Not just from abusive homes," Bridget said solemnly. "From war-torn planets, slavery, homelessness, poverty, and sometimes they're brought to us by parents who don't wish to be saddled with half-breeds. It's not just half-Galra we take in, but they are in the majority."

She was interrupted when Mala emitted a low burp. After giving the baby a jiggle and saying she's a good girl, she resumed the patting. "Long story short, I volunteered at an orphanage. I went from changing diapers and warming milk to doing clerical work and then representing them in meetings with benefactors. Especially when I demonstrated, I could convince the frugal ones to donate more money."

Keith could see how she could persuade someone to give money to a good cause. She certainly had the skill set and appearance. From her attractive appearance, pleasant brogue, and seductive charm, she picked up from her time in Zenana, not to mention what she had learned as Horde Prime's Missionary. 

"And . . . well, I reached out to old patrons."

His eyebrows raised as his eyes went wide. "From Zenana? The Galra who . . . holy fucking shit, Bridget! Did you . . .?"

"No, no, no," she shook her head. "I didn't sell myself for money. It wasn't like that. These patrons didn't abuse me in Zenana and genuinely want to undo the harm they have done while serving the old Empire. I went to them, but with a strong understanding of there being new boundaries between us. The ones who didn't seem to understand, I brushed off like dust from my feet, and the others were more than willing to donate money, supplies, medicine, and even an old estate of his we've been renovating into a hospital."

Keith relaxed, looking Bridget up and down, and she seemed fine. She no longer had the lowered eyes of someone who had been subveriant for years but held his gaze openly without looking away. "Sorry, I just. . . I didn't want you to . . .forget it.”

"It's alright. I . . .I worry for you too sometimes," Bridget said, now lowering her eyes.

Mala distracted Bridget with a smell belch. While she settled the infant into her arms for sleep, Keith worried that she still had the residuals of the feelings manufactured by Horde Prime. Or was it guilt? 

"I need to take this one to bed," she said, rising to her feet. Her eyes lingered on him, tightening her lips before drawing breath. "I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry for everything I did to you on the Velvet Glove."

"No," he rose to his feet. "Bridget, that was Horde Prime. It was all him. You would never have done those things if he hadn't put those thoughts in your head. And I did things to you too, remember?"

"So, we raped each other?" Bridget sighed as a tear rolled down her cheek. 

"No, Horde Prime raped us." It was horrifying, but liberating to say it out loud. It was also empowering. "If you've been holding onto guilt over what happened to me, to us, then don't. I have never blamed you for any of it."

Tears ran down her cheeks as she closed her eyes. A weak smile touched her lips, and she nodded, "I . . .feel a part of me has been healed just by hearing you say that."

Keith rubbed the back of his head, looking away and coming to a decision. "I want to keep in touch. I'm sure Shiro would like to hear from you again and to know how you're doing. And . . . if it's alright, I can give you my therapist's number. She does sessions over the exonet if being in person isn't possible. I don't know where I would be if not for her."

With lips pursed, Bridget nodded. "I'll consider the therapist. And I do want to keep in touch."

***

Keith left the hotel feeling lighter than when he arrived. It was as if a weight he had unknowingly been carrying for years had been lifted off his shoulders. Bridget had been a nagging thought at the back of his head, a regret that had clung to him like tar that he couldn't help her was gone. She had survived and overcome what Horde Prime had done to her, but she still bore the emotional scars like him.

He won't pressure her into therapy; that's a choice she would have to make for herself, but he will insist on checking in on her. Perhaps the Blades could work with her organization to bring aid and peace to parts of the Universe. Between the two of them, they could undo some of the harm they have done under Horde Prime's control. 

A lingering cold swept up between his shoulder blades as an echo of a memory haunted him.

The sharp tip of a metal finger guard trailing down his spine, leaving a pink mark behind it. It's a shame to mark such lovely skin, my beautiful Keith, but through suffering comes purity.

"Fuck you," Keith hissed under his breath. "Fuck off forever, you goddamn monster."

Horde Prime was dead, gone, erased, and would one day be nothing more than a dark name in the history books. His Light has gone dark like the inside of a tomb. Keith wasn't sure if there was a Hell, but if there was, then he hoped Horde Prime was burning there for all eternity.

Calming himself, he let the anger dissipate and put the adrenaline into something positive, like getting himself to the car as quickly as positive. He would send Shiro a message about Bridget and then get much needed sleep. Perhaps he'll book a means of transport back to Earth, and he had a strong desire to feel Shiro's arms around him, to banish the cold memory of Horde Prime's touch.


End file.
